


Emerald Star: The Deer and the Lion

by Seuris, Songspinner



Series: Emerald Star [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-20 11:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22016410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seuris/pseuds/Seuris, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: Dimitri and Claude are reunited on Gronder Field, as three armies clash and chaos reigns. Claude takes a risk that pays off better than he ever imagined it might, rescuing Dimitri from the battlefield. In Claude's tent, the two of them find that five years of bloodshed and sorrow haven't dulled their feelings for each other in the slightest.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: Emerald Star [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580530
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the post-timeskip followup to Emerald Star: Before the War; they're running concurrently. This is basically a canon-divergent mashup of Verdant Wind and Azure Moon. As before, Songspinner plays Claude (and Lorenz and Felix, if they come up); Seuris plays Dimitri (and a GD Byleth named Berith, if they come up).

Claude couldn't believe his eyes when the army flying Kingdom colors marched onto Gronder Field from the north and he spotted who led it. Dimitri…but he’d heard the crown prince had been executed. So how? He struggled to keep an overwhelming wave of hope from drowning him. He had to stay focused on the battle. But it was so hard not to take to the skies right then and cross the battlefield to see him up close. The only thing that helped temper the urge was the dread realization that the Kingdom army wasn’t positioned to ally with them. …Dimitri apparently intended to take on both the Empire and the Alliance at the same time. But _why?_

He didn’t have time to ponder the question. His heart already heavy with regret over having to fight this war at all, with the memory of their mock battle here years ago fresh in his mind, he gave the order to engage. But the Kingdom was slow to advance, which gave him the excuse he needed to focus on Edelgard’s troops. He had to get this done _quickly_ \--quickly enough to force the Empire to retreat so he could call a truce and talk to Dimitri. One on one. He was sure that given the chance, he could mend whatever fence needed mending here.

He took a few gambles with his tactics, trying to shortcut to Edelgard's retreat without too many risks. Some paid off and some didn’t, though he wasn’t exactly surprised to find that Hubert was willing to outright destroy half the battlefield in something of a scorched-earth strategy. In the end, Claude wasn’t quite able to finish the job before the Kingdom army reached the fray. In the chaos, he briefly lost sight of the Faerghan vanguard; by the time he spotted Dimitri again, the king and his battalion were charging down an enemy that Claude could tell just by looking would make a devastating counterattack. …he couldn’t let Dimitri fall here. Too much was at stake. Besides…

…well, a thought for after the battle. He barked an order and swung around to flank the enemy, picking them off at a distance until they were sufficiently harried for Dimitri’s troops to finish off safely.

Which is how he ended up where he is now: coming in for a cautious landing within shouting range, but near cover, just in case. “Dimitri! Stand down for a minute, I just want to talk to you!”

* * *

In the eyes of most of the Lions, perhaps, Dimitri has been doing much better.

Unlike that first year, when Edelgard's betrayal had been all to weigh upon his mind, to occupy his waking thoughts... he has become decent at conversation. Has come to take care of himself again. The prince always brushes aside their concern and encouragement alike with a brusque reiteration that he is merely a tool, a weapon for the dead.

He's bathing himself and allows Mercedes to trim his hair, however. It seems his friends are content taking what they can get, for the time being. But he changes in battle; or perhaps, more accurately, he hasn't. His reliance on tactics is wanting for the most part; the number of lances he destroys in a single battle only increases after each. At the outset, here at Gronder, they saw his expression, the dullness in his singular good eye, and braced themselves for more of the same.

Though it's different, today. Today, after some time spent on the field as wild and manic as expected, the prince seems as if he has... run out. Of energy. Of vengeance. The wild and unpredictable arcs of Areadbhar gain some level of control, still a mere shell of his stunning capabilities a mere few years prior but considerable. Edelgard is there, he feels her eyes burning through him from across the field... but whether some long-forgotten part of himself has won out or something else within him has broken, burnt itself out in the effort, is difficult to tell.

In either case, it's probably what allows the prince to turn to Claude, as opposed to merely flinging some expendable, garbage lance at him. His brows knit, surprise, then confusion, and finally question, flitting through the series of emotions one after the other. He doesn't speak but, notably... he stops.

 _Something’s wrong. Very wrong._ Close enough now to see the eyepatch, the unkempt hair, the hunched posture…Claude tries to school his expression, but he’s sure a trace of the worry he feels makes its way onto his face anyway. “…I’m coming closer, okay?” He dismounts, never taking his eyes off Dimitri, and waves off a few of his soldiers who try to accompany him to back him up. He has to do this alone. He’s horrified to find that the Faerghan prince…his friend, whose warm smile and soft blue eyes once brought him comfort…reminds him now of a terrified stray hound, poised perhaps to lash out or run at the merest hint of a threat.

He approaches slowly, his bow down at his side, the other hand raised in a cautious gesture of peace. “Dimitri…” Questions flit through his mind. _What happened to you? Did you fake your own death? What are you after?_ But he starts simpler than that. They’re still in the middle of a battlefield, after all. This is a tentative parley, at best. He stops just far enough away to be out of Dimitri’s lance range—well, hopefully. It is a _huge_ lance. “...the Alliance has no conflict with you. If you join me, we can defeat the Empire here, together.”

 _This war... has already taken so much from me._ There is a part of Dimitri that thinks Claude some ghost, another treasured companion lost by his inadequacy, come to haunt him in moments most inopportune. First, Dedue. And now... now...

He nearly backs away, whether by sheer habit or his shock, but as Claude nears, as his voice continues to filter in... Dimitri is lucid, just enough, that after a moment in silent thought, the prince seems to decide that he is real. Must be. A single step nearer is all that he takes before stilling again, cape dragging over the corpses at his feet. Join? The Alliance? He hadn't thought the Leicester Alliance would even appear in this battle, but then again leading up to it he's been... everywhere. Physically, mentally. His lone eye narrows in on Claude, the battlefield seemingly forgotten... until the steps of a soldier attempting stealth, an imperial _dog_ , nears in Dimitri's peripheral. Without hesitation, his secondary spear, some nameless thing of iron, is launched and finds its home with a haunting precision; the man is all but pinned to the ground by the lance piercing his throat.

 _The Alliance. Join with the Alliance._ His frazzled mind falters on the thought, but after a moment to catch up, and to wrestle himself back into the waking world, Dimitri forces a stiffened nod. The other part of his brain, that half that cannot get over Claude's mere presence here, is forgotten. "Edelgard's head is mine. The rest, I don't care."

It’s only when Dimitri takes a step toward him that Claude notices the absolute carnage surrounding them. It’s a battlefield, certainly, but the sheer bloody mess here seems a little excessive. Still, he seems to have caught Dimitri’s attention, and he’s about to say something else when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye-- Dimitri catches it, too, and before Claude can even blink, his eyes widen to see the spear hurled with almost impossible speed and accuracy, impaling the soldier like a lightning bolt from the sky. A faint gurgle, and the man is dead in an instant. The death itself is what it is—Claude has taken plenty of lives during this war already, and will take more before it’s over. The Empire is dooming itself with its refusal to back down, and this blood is on Edelgard’s hands.

No, it’s not the bloodshed that unsettles him. It’s the way Dimitri did it, the abrupt and almost _feral_ aggression that leapt from him like a beast let off a leash. He doesn’t say anything about it, letting Dimitri’s eye settle on him again and keeping his calm. “…if that’s what you want, so be it.” He’s all but given up hope of reasoning with Edelgard at this point, anyway, much as it pains him to admit it to himself. He steps forward with confidence, hiding his concern, to hold out a hand to Dimitri with which to seal the deal. It isn’t necessary, by any means, and it isn’t as though he could stop the Kingdom army from turning on them mid-fight if that’s what Dimitri wants. He just…needs to get closer, to touch him. Dimitri seems so lost, so absent. Maybe, Claude thinks, he can repay the favor Dimitri did for him years ago: be an anchor in the chaos.

“Here’s to victory, eh?” Claude tries a measured smile.

This man is brave, Dimitri notices first, far braver than most in his own army. The thought would have brought a smirk to his face in less dire circumstances. His eye flickers to the gloved hand that reaches for him, and then back to his face; his features remain the same but absently the prince notices: Claude... seems to wear his age well.

Another step, over another discarded body—the hand free of Areadbhar reaches to return that gesture, perhaps with a tad more force than necessary (can he be blamed, with the rush of a close encounter still buzzing through his veins?). His eye moves, briefly, to regard the soldiers who attempted to accompany Claude. _What it must be to see one's leader currying favor with a beast._ The thought makes him scoff. There are far more important matters to attend to.

Relief washes over Claude as Dimitri takes his hand. He half-expected something dire to happen, so when it doesn’t, his smile widens just a little. It’s not until they clasp hands that he notices he needs to look up farther to meet Dimitri’s eye from this close. Huh. Now doesn’t seem like the time to comment on it, though.

He sees Dimitri glance over at his battalion, well behind him, and as Claude follows that gaze, he sees Hilda a little farther away, watching his back and keeping the Imperial army at bay. “Don’t mind them,” he says, turning back to the king. Or…the man who _should_ have been the king, anyway. He’s not entirely certain what’s going on in Faerghus right now; it’s hard to get much intelligence from across that border. “I didn’t think it prudent to bring anyone. Besides, I trust you not to skewer me while my back is turned.” He smirks a bit. He’s not being entirely honest, but reminding Dimitri of the depth of trust…and more…that once flourished between them can only help. He hopes.

Dimitri doesn't answer such a remark; his eyebrow quirks just slightly, and this is the extent to which he chooses to respond to this backstabbing nonsense. "If you take care of the _mutt_ ," comes his pointed referral to Hubert, "then I will take care of its owner." His lance is readied, poise resumed; his mind races with thoughts of Claude's return but he cannot afford distraction now. The battlefield continues to burn around them, and once he has caught Ingrid's eye across the expanse, their tide of blue becomes that of blue and yellow.

Claude doesn’t have any commentary on Dimitri’s choice of words to refer to Hubert, either—just nods, all business again. “Right. It’ll take some doing to keep him from retreating, but I’ll put Lysithea on it. We’ll come up with something.” And when he returns to his wyvern, he does turn his back to Dimitri, despite his misgivings. _It takes a leap of faith to earn one in return_. …besides, his battalion comprises mostly archers, and they’re certainly watching. But it’s the thought that counts, right? He takes to the air again, swooping low to give Hilda the signal for the change in plans, before launching an offensive against Hubert in earnest, leading the Alliance army to cut like a wedge between the two sides of Edelgard’s forces to give Dimitri an opening to reach her while pinning Hubert down.

The prince stands still, watches Claude's retreating back in naught but silence, for a second. And then he's gone, dashing off into the thick of it once more, calling for Umbra with a harsh whistle through his fingers. Now he moves with purpose, his steps and the cleave of his relic serving to clear his path, as opposed to carving through for the sake of carnage alone. A gesture to Ingrid, once they meet eyes again, the parting and joining of index and middle finger in a sweep; the same to Sylvain, and by extension Felix, on the other side of the field. The tide of soldiers shifts, swarms—Alliance forces move to divide from the middle and those of Faerghus, save his own battalion and that of Felix, move to place pressure from the outside, with a loose ring of archers on the outskirts to rain arrows upon those imperial soldiers trapped within their loop.

Dividing and conquering, he supposes. Dimitri skirts around behind one side of his forces, with Felix mirroring him on the other side. He outpaces the arrows that overshot their true targets with ease, and as he sets his sight on Edelgard and the escort battalions that surround her, the hooves of his warhorse beat as thunder against the ground, nearer and nearer, rearing to strike--

 _Fire._ The field, it practically erupts into flame, as if the very air itself has begun to burn, and Umbra startles; even he is unable to avoid such potent fire magic. Dimitri, for all his sudden rage, manages to land in a stumbling stance, still mostly upright when Umbra bolts. The air hums; Dimitri recognizes the dark magic of Edelgard's mages charging the air around them, though even in his manic attempt to dodge, he catches a glimpse of Felix on the other side, managing to slice cleanly through a retreating warlock--

 _Retreating._ They're attempting to retreat. Damn the soldiers so long as Edelgard herself can escape; how _like her_ , he thinks. Fury burns in his chest and Dimitri feels every foot of ground lost, nearly howls-- no, he _does_ , as he charges through the burning heat of flames, and even as he seems to suffocate in this scalding armor of his, he cannot stop himself. "Do not let her escape!" Areadbhar trembles under the strain of his grip.

Once the Kingdom and Alliance armies start working together, Claude knows it’s only a matter of time before Edelgard and Hubert will sound the retreat. And with so much mystical might at their enemies’ disposal, Claude and Dimitri will have to be quick and clever to stop them. Claude has a few ideas, but--

\--he watches in horror as the battlefield erupts in flames. Edelgard must be out of her _mind_. He whistles, shrill, through his fingers to catch Hilda’s attention and hastens to pull the troops back from the massive explosions, minimizing casualties as much as possible. He curses under his breath, knowing this is all the distraction Hubert needs to warp both himself and Edelgard off the battlefield as soon as they have a moment of breathing room. But perhaps, if he and Ingrid stay above the fire and bring their aerial units in to harry them…

But before he can coordinate with her, his attention is arrested by a high-pitched, crazed whinny and the thundering of racing hooves. He turns to see Dimitri’s prized horse, Umbra, fleeing in a blind panic…without a rider. _No_ … He nudges the wyvern with his knees, wheeling sharply in the air to swoop low and trying to get under the billowing smoke so he can see more clearly. Surely, he wouldn’t discover Dimitri alive only to lose him again. He wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t.

Finally, after what feels like forever with his heart pounding and his eyes watering from the smoke, sweat dripping from his face in the heat of the fire consuming the field of battle, Claude hears the clanking of armor and spots a figure running directly toward the spot where Edelgard and her escort were a moment ago. He can’t see enough to know whether she’s still there, but it doesn’t matter—Dimitri is clearly not going to make it there before he burns alive or collapses from smoke inhalation, and Ingrid’s pegasus knights are stuck engaging another battalion of those damned masked mages.

Claude slings his bow over his shoulder and his wyvern dives. He makes a messy, hurried landing on a patch of ground that isn’t yet on fire and shouts over the roaring flames. “Dimitri! We have to go! It’s too late, we’ll get her next time!” He leans out of the saddle to extend his hand, intending to pull Dimitri into the saddle and take off before the fire spreads any further.

Dimitri's world is consumed by flame. Distantly, he hears a horse, though he can't be certain that it's his own; anyone near him, friend or foe, is obstructed by billowing smoke and unrelenting fire and for a moment, the prince considers that he may not have a way out, this time. His luck, the misfortune he brings to those around him, has finally turned to reap him now, right when his goal for these five years stood so close, practically in his grasp...

The wind around him kicks up something fierce, blowing flame and smoke and Dimitri lifts his arms, grimacing as he attempts in vain to shield himself. That heat comes so close, practically licking at him; it's some miracle his mantle hasn't burst into flames. When he can bear to crack his eye open against the smoke, though, it's brown that fills his vision, rough brown hide, and briefly it feels as if the fire is... gone...?

Claude _._ His voice registers before Dimitri can manage to get a proper look. But he walks into that gap in the fire, groping blindly until the sharpened claws of his gauntlets find Claude's fingers--

 _Too late. Too late. Too late._ He can't bear it. It takes every ounce of strength, every ounce of reserve in his body to keep from throwing himself back into those flames in search of a foe who has, without a doubt, long since vanished. With a grunt, the prince flings his arm forward, grasping for Claude's wrist and managing, with his aid, to swing himself clumsily upon the wyvern's back. His armor knocks hard against his frame; his relic just barely stays in his grasp and, fumbling, Dimitri struggles to find some grasp on the man sat in front of him for fear of impaling him with the damned thing on accident.

Claude waits only long enough to make sure Dimitri's secure in the saddle before lurching back into the air. He needs to get Dimitri out of here, right now. Hilda can handle the rest here.

They climb high above the battlefield, above the rising smoke and the cloying stench of burning flesh, and veer away from Gronder Field back toward the Alliance camp. It’s hard to even feel like this was much of a victory, but Claude's determined to view it as one and take pride in it—not just because Edelgard was pushed to suffer casualties to pull off her own retreat, but because if he can cement this alliance with Dimitri, the tide of the war could turn drastically. Not to mention Dimitri being _alive_ in the first place. Even if they’d lost the battle, he’d count that as a victory in and of itself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Dimitri catch up over dinner. Claude starts to prod carefully to figure out what's going on with Dimitri; Dimitri starts to realize that Claude is a reminder of what hope used to feel like. And maybe what flirting used to feel like.

That bubble of hope in Claude's heart that he tried to quash at the start of the battle is steadfastly growing now. Dimitri is…different, but surely not so different that they can’t confide in one another as they once did? He doesn’t say anything on the wyvern ride back to camp, both wanting to give Dimitri a few minutes to recover and needing those few minutes himself to process what’s happening.

Clear air is a much needed shock to Dimitri's lungs, and as they ascend and venture farther from the field, as Dimitri has the time to cough out that soot and smoke (and tighten his grasp on poor Claude to keep himself from tumbling off, when he doubles over) more and more of his mind comes back. The battle, rendered clearer, recollection of the events that just unfolded as if he were witnessing it again, from elsewhere. Edelgard's escape. Her... cowardice. The burning of bodies, which are largely, he suspects, imperial soldiers. A different sense of sickness rises in his lungs.

But soon, the Alliance campfires and tents come into view below; Dimitri, for all that he's shaken, has only just begun to miss the ground by the time Claude is ushering his wyvern to land at the camp's center in a rush of wind, scattering leaves and kicking up dust. Claude leaps easily out of the saddle and turns back to help the prince down. Dimitri nearly stumbles off, managing to catch the other man's hand and save himself from a faceful of dirt. In spite of eyes on them, both curious and questioning, as far as the prince is concerned, it is only Claude that stands here with him, now. Hesitantly, he retracts his hand.

“Hey…are you okay?” Claude asks, studying Dimitri's face.

"I... will be fine." The ache after battle is a familiar foe, though such bone-deep weariness is still new to the prince; at once, he feels like this armor will drag him into the leaves underfoot if he should dare keep it on a minute longer. His gaze flits back to Claude. His face. He didn't escape the smoke either, naturally. His face, his clothes, bear those sooty marks, though not as severe as Dimitri knows his are. His eye lingers. His thoughts begin to move again. "I'm glad you're alive... Claude." And so does his tongue, apparently, without his permission.

As Dimitri stumbles from the saddle and Claude steadies him, he feels a strange wave of nostalgia. With Dimitri’s hand in his, he remembers when their positions were once reversed—Claude nearly falling while learning to skate on the frozen-over pond, and Dimitri steadying him with a strong arm, both of them laughing. ’I will be fine’ doesn’t inspire much confidence, but he’s alive and safe, and that’s all that really matters for now. “The Alliance can’t get rid of me that easily.” He grins a bit, but it doesn’t last. “…but _you._ Dimitri…I’d heard you were dead. I thought…” _I thought you were gone. I thought I would never see you again._

Dimitri's face darkens at that, briefly. For a time, his friends, even Dimitri himself couldn't say for certain that he wasn't—to this day, the man himself has been known to claim that the Prince of Faerghus is long dead, succeeded now by only a shadow of who he was, _what_ he was before the world robbed him of it all. He nearly disputes it, though, to Claude. Nearly lets slip that he is, indeed, still here... somewhere, he supposes.

“…well, it doesn’t matter now," Claude continues. "You’re alive, no thanks to that little stunt you pulled back there.”

Dimitri very nearly shoves the other man by the arm, though to his credit, he does not actually. "I am alive, aren't I?" It isn't his fault the field practically burst into flame.

Claude can’t stop himself anymore—he throws his arms around Dimitri and pulls him close into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you again. I don’t have the words to express how much it means that you’re here.”

Dimitri's annoyed grimace is surprisingly quick to fade, even before Claude has wrapped him in this sudden embrace. He stiffens, naturally, at that first moment of enveloping warmth; the prince nearly swears at the tinge of heat in his cheeks. But he doesn't. Dimitri is hesitant, cautious. Still is he soaked in blood and coated in dirt and soot, come from the battlefield looking as a half-alive corpse might, but this did not make Claude hesitate. Not so much as even a flinch. That thought weighs heavy on him, if for a moment. "I am alive." It almost doesn't sound real to himself. A hand lifts, followed by the other with a soft uncertainty he hasn't felt in a long time; his arms move to return the embrace, mindful for the first time in years of breaking this thing he holds in his grasp. "Thanks to you, in no small part. Almost entirely."

Another spike of relief goes through Claude as Dimitri hesitantly returns the embrace, but accompanied by no small surge of concern that it's so hesitant in the first place. Five years of war can change a lot, but this? He had his friends on the battlefield with him--Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix, the others...have none of them been there to comfort him in all this time? What does he need comforting _from?_ The Kingdom is half-lost, true, but the Dimitri he remembers would have rallied, sought allies, fought back. This single-minded hunt for Edelgard's head is...something else entirely. "Anytime, Dimitri. And I'm so happy that you are." The words brim with feeling and sincerity, for once.

Dimitri can just exist, for a minute. Claude's weight against him is more of a comfort than he'd ever care to admit; if his mind still doubted that this was real, and that this beloved companion truly was standing before him, it _can't_ doubt anymore, feeling his warmth. His eye slides closed, and even here, surrounded by strangers and watched by their questioning gazes... he can almost feel at ease.

Claude holds the embrace for another long moment before finally letting go and putting his hands on Dimitri's shoulders instead--for which he has to incline his arms more than he's used to. "Damn, Your Highness, you really haven't been skimping on your vegetables for the past five years, have you? ;)"

The prince nearly splutters. Well, he... his diet has most certainly been significant, though not in the way that Claude's insinuated. Some nights he's fine on his own; others, Ingrid and Sylvain and Dedue nearly fight to get him to eat properly, as opposed to taking a few measly bites of meat. He manages to clear his throat, softly. "I... will admit that I haven't had the easiest time, these long years." Claude's brightness, that sun-like radiance he's always possessed, hasn't dimmed even a fraction over the years and the last thing Dimitri could bear to do is force it to fade, with talk of his own hardships. More than that, though, he can't bear to be entirely untruthful with him. "But I... suppose that things have been looking up. Now, especially." The remark is accompanied by a hand of his own rising to Claude's shoulder, giving it a hearty squeeze.

Claude smiles, struck as much now as always by Dimitri's earnest honesty, the way he's unafraid to speak kind words. He spends a moment just looking up into Dimitri's eye... _and how did he lose the other one?_...and then he calls a soldier over. "Prepare a warm meal and a bath for the--" He pauses, giving Dimitri a questioning glance. "Prince? King? Of Faerghus." The soldier looks both confused and impressed, but nods and heads off to follow the order.

"Dimitri." Even if politics in the Kingdom weren't so involved right now, Dimitri's never bothered about maintaining propriety around Claude in the past. What reason has he to start now? Though it does make him wonder what sort of title Claude's adopted, now. Has he inherited House Riegan, finally? "Just Dimitri." He isn't keen on removing his armor or even his cloak here, though the prospect of a bath and some warm food to tide him over is an appealing sort of combination he can't refuse.

"Will you be joining me?" the prince asks thoughtlessly, taking a moment to adjust Areadbhar on his back... before he audibly _chokes_. "F-for the food."

Claude laughs low in his throat, giving Dimitri a sly grin. What he says out loud, though--while there are still people surrounding them--is, "Of course. I couldn't pass up an opportunity to catch up with an old, dear friend. Come on. You look like you could use some rest, as well." Dimitri figures he must really look awful, then. Not that he didn't already assume.

Claude leaves others to take care of the wyvern, leading Dimitri back to his tent--fairly spacious, and cluttered with maps and books scattered among a large pile of cushions, a chess set, a thick blanket, and a low war table covered with an elaborate model battle scenario atop a map of Gronder Field. "Have a seat." He takes his own advice, dropping onto a cushion as he stifles a yawn. "Do you need help with the armor?...I can call someone," he tacks on at the end, a bit belatedly.

Dimitri follows without a moment's hesitation, feeling something akin to a familiar warmth once he's ducked into Claude's tent. He'd been in the Deer's room, once, when they were both students; somehow this tent seems to have been made into more of a home than his actual room at Garreg Mach. The prince doesn't shy away from appreciating the space, those small but noteworthy decorations scattered across it. First order of business...

The mantle is dropped from his shoulders without ceremony. Dimitri halts to roll his shoulders, flexing those sore muscles, before he considers where he ought to start with his armor. "It is mostly manageable on my own. I wouldn't trouble another with helping me." Still, maybe he should be thinking twice about practically stripping down in Claude's tent? He'll only take off the largely unnecessary components, then, he tells himself as he goes about removing his gloves, his gauntlets, the pauldrons on his shoulders... His heavy trousers, for all intents and purposes, are staying on. The rest of his armor comes to sit in a pile by the tent's flap, covered by his cloak.

Claude opens his mouth to offer his help anyway, but as Dimitri starts removing pieces of his armor one by one, he decides to shut up and watch instead. He removes his own gloves and bulkier outer layers--the pauldron, his cape and sash, his padded jacket--in the meantime and piles them on the floor nearby. It takes Dimitri a lot longer, and by the time he's done, the soldier from earlier shows up to drop off two trays of food, slipping them through the tent's flap without coming inside. Claude values his privacy, and his troops know that by now.

"It was quite fortunate your camp was so close," Dimitri says. "Closer than the Kingdom's, even."

Claude can't help letting his eyes wander over Dimitri's form. Without the heaviest parts of his armor and the huge cloak and mantle, he looks more like the Dimitri who's lived in his memory all this time, only...bigger. "We've held the Bridge of Myrddin since last month, so it was easy to get nice and close before we launched our offensive." He makes a gesture with one hand as if to say, hand me that tray? Since Dimitri is closer to the tent's entrance.

 _What fortunate timing._ Dimitri nods, scooping a tray into each hand to bring them to Claude's table, and he settles himself onto a cushion adjacent to him, somewhat glad to have a more comfortable setting than his own barren tent in the Holy Kingdom's camp. Granted, that would be his own fault for declining all of Dedue and Ingrid's attempts to get him outfitted with more comfortable furnishings... Even without the ability to taste, Dimitri is quick to tuck into his meal, though not without some semblance of manners. "Myrddin, I see... as opposed to having come that way, we routed our march elsewhere. Through Ordelia. We were able to free the area of Imperial control, for the most part."

Claude hesitates to say anything else for a moment, too many questions fighting to be asked first and the desire to talk to Dimitri-- _Dimitri_ , whom he's missed so much, whom he spent months mourning--warring with the caution he can't shed about talking to someone who was facing him on the battlefield just earlier today. Eventually, he says, "Where have you been all this time?"

Dimitri almost doesn't know where to start, until he realizes there is only one logical beginning. "You most likely heard that I was executed. It would have been so, once the Empire captured me... had Dedue not rescued me and brought me to shelter in Fraldarius territory. But Fhirdiad, and by extension Faerghus, is considered a vassal state of the Empire, by now. We were able to raise an army without their notice regardless."

 _Dedue. Of course._ Claude makes a mental note to thank him later, assuming Dimitri's retainer will be involved with any war council or the like they put together. He eats as he listens, wondering why the Kingdom hasn't reached out in all this time. Dimitri had to have known he would be amenable to an alliance, right? With the Kingdom's help he might not have had to rely so heavily on the Church's forces; he dislikes feeling indebted to Rhea, but he still fully intends to crack open her secrets like an egg, so it's not an entirely unwelcome arrangement.

"Though I have my own goals, Gilbert has been pushing me to reclaim Fhirdiad before pursuing Edelgard." Dimitri says this last portion with a sneer. "It seems as though the Empire at large still presumes me dead. I don't know if that witch Cornelia has even told Edelgard that I still draw breath... but what of you? I would think you've assumed the helm of the Alliance, by now."

Claude blinks. It's so disturbing--one moment he seems like the Dimitri Claude knows, and the next he transforms into the man who insisted on marching into a battle on two fronts just to try to snipe the Emperor personally. He doesn't visibly react to the abrupt change of subject, but he definitely notes it. "You'd think correctly, my friend. My grandfather passed not long after Edelgard ascended the throne, and I've been the new Duke Riegan ever since." Not that he lets anyone call him that.

"I'm sorry to hear that." An automatic response, but certainly still fully intent.

"For a while it was all I could do to keep the Alliance from fracturing entirely, but then--" Claude smiles. "We found Teach. They're alive. We met up at Garreg Mach and decided to launch a counteroffensive against the Empire from there. Once we took Myrddin, the holdout lords lost their reason to support the Empire, so now the Alliance is whole again."

Dimitri's expression brightens considerably. "The Professor is back?" _They_ survived _a fall of that height?_ Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised, but Dimitri is most certainly relieved. Perhaps that is why he never had their ghost to haunt him as well...

Claude pauses to eat, but also to collect his thoughts. How to broach the topic? Ordinarily he wouldn't bother carefully tailoring his words with Dimitri, but... "If Edelgard doesn't know you're alive, that's a trump card we can use to our advantage. But why is it so important that you go after her yourself?" Casual--this is just a chat about strategy. Nothing more.

Edelgard would have to have snuck into the conversation, at some point. The mention of her seems to knock the prince off-kilter; he stiffens in silence, food forgotten in an instant. " _Edelgard_... after the suffering she has caused, for you to ask me such a thing..." But he can't be too disappointed. Claude doesn't know the truth in its entirety, he reasons. Dimitri huffs, and pops another bite into his mouth, chewing vigorously. "It pains me to say that she and I had something of a similar goal, but _that_ is where _any_ similarities between her and I end. Fodlan was rotten, from the inside out. With that, I agree wholeheartedly. But to cleanse it away with fire, to bring war and death and suffering so mindlessly... I cannot abide her, Claude, nor the things that she and her _ilk_ have done."

Claude watches carefully as the mere mention of Edelgard's name prompts a worrying shift in Dimitri's demeanor. That seems...a bit extreme, to Claude, but it sounds like the war has really taken a toll on Dimitri, and he clearly blames Edelgard for it. "Believe me, I understand," he says softly. Thinking about Lysithea, about Remire. About the herald who came to issue the proclamation that Emperor Edelgard would make bloody war on anyone who didn't immediately bend the knee, and the chaos that followed. Sometimes it seems as though this war has been going on his whole life, that there has never been and never will be anything else.

A pause, a shift; that fury seems to dissipate, for a moment, before Dimitri pipes up once more. "Did I ever tell you... that she and I grew up together?"

Claude pushes his tray aside, shifting to sit a little closer to Dimitri and face him more directly. "No, you didn't."

Dimitri nods. He didn't think so. Maybe he should have; he can't think of a single other thing he ever hid from Claude all those years ago, aside from... the necessary. Dimitri settles further against his cushion. "She is my sister. Stepsister, that is. Her mother married my father... and she cared for me as if I were her own blood. It wasn't until her final year in the Kingdom that Edelgard and I were introduced to one another, but we got along famously, back then. I learned to dance, to wield an axe... I missed her so dearly, after they returned to the Empire. Before she left, I'd even given her a present--the dagger I'd received from my father, for my coming-of-age."

Rare is it for Dimitri to let his heart break over Edelgard. His chest constricts, forcing the air from his lungs, though he manages to pass it off as little more than a disgruntled huff. "I'm almost certain she doesn't remember me. Remember the things we did together..."

Claude's eyebrows lift at the tale, which sheds a whole new light on the tense dynamic between the two of them that was always there at the Academy, since the day Claude met them both. Stepsister... There are a lot of questions he doesn't intend to ask, not now. Later, maybe. "She doesn't remember? What makes you say that?"

"You saw how she always was. With you, she eventually came to something of a... rapport." Dimitri manages to hide his discontent at such a thought; for Edelgard to dirty his memories of Claude in such a way... "Me, it was as if I barely existed to her. She never once spoke to me if you weren't present as well." He returns to his meal, picking at the food on his tray. In spite of his loss of appetite, Dimitri makes himself continue eating. "It means nothing anymore. Regardless of who she is, I intend to right her wrongs." _Even if it should kill me_. He can't say such a thing to Claude, though.

'It means nothing anymore.' Claude doubts that's actually true--otherwise, it wouldn't weigh so clearly and heavily on Dimitri's shoulders. He wouldn't feel so personally affronted that he needs to kill Edelgard with his own hands, badly enough to literally walk through fire to try it. But Claude lets him keep his comfortable lie, instead reaching over to place his hand over the one Dimitri isn't using to eat with. "We'll right them together. I plan to take Fort Merceus and march on Enbarr. I would be honored to have you march by my side. Edelgard will have nowhere to run."

For all that Dimitri knows he's being unreasonable, he can't deny that satisfaction, that contentment, that Claude's continuing comfort brings him. He ought to be disgusted at himself. The prince grants him a significant look, lets his features and edges soften back into some semblance of the young and kind and clueless Dimitri that Claude must still see in him, if he continues to stand by his side even now. "I... the honor would be mine." This, he does mean, utterly. Dimitri moves and turns his hand so that he might grasp Claude's, a strong grip and hearty shake that relaxes quickly, but doesn't let go entirely. To take Merceus, it's... brazen, bold even for his tastes, but Dimitri can't deny that it has 'Claude' written all over it, a plan like that.

Feeling Dimitri's hand in his without gloves again after such a long time brings a smile to Claude's face. "Partners in war, then. ...Dimitri, I really am so happy that you're here. After everything that's happened, all that we've lost, to see you again...it feels like a ray of sunshine. Today marks the beginning of the end for this nightmare. I can feel it."

Dimitri doesn't dare allow himself to have hope anymore, not in the midst of this war; all he can bear is his own determination, the promise that he will end all of this pointless strife for his people, and all of Fodlan. Claude, though, is brimming with it, and even he, resolute as he is that he could never abide that kind of hope... well. Claude's moods have always been, for him, infectious. If he looks startled, he most likely is. Who else would claim so openly to have missed him this way?

Claude squeezes Dimitri's hand and lets his gaze linger on his face for a moment. As handsome as the prince always was, the man he's become has an edge to him that makes his good looks all the more alluring. He wonders again about the eye, but he doesn't wish to make Dimitri relive any more terrible memories. "And I have to say, the hair? I like it."

Dimitri's eye is trapped on their hands, still gently clasped, before darting up at his unexpected compliment. "I-" His hair? This unwashed rat's nest that it's become in this last battle? He can't help but feel slightly self-conscious, suddenly aware that though most of the dirt and grime and blood were caught by his armor, he's likely to still look quite a mess. His other hand moves, food forgotten, to feel cautiously at a lock of his own hair; he knows his cheeks are red, now.

Claude chuckles, to see the sudden blush and the uncertainty. "Five long years and you still don't know how to take a compliment?"

*As you might imagine, I haven't been complimented much over those five years, Claude."

"Well, that ends now." Claude's smile is gently teasing. "But if you feel like you haven't earned it yet, I'm sure that warm bath is waiting for you now."

"Ah... right." Dimitri is reminded of his earlier... misspeak. "Then, I'll... return? Afterward?"

 _Well, if he's asking..._ "You could. Although..." With his own free hand, Claude mirrors Dimitri's earlier gesture, giving his own hair an evaluative look. "That battle didn't exactly do me any favors, either. A bath sounds like a great idea." He doesn't quite wink, but he looks like he might at any moment.

 _Ah. That's... ah._ "Right." Miraculously, he doesn't combust into flames, though he feels he must be redder than the tomatoes Dedue would grow in the monastery greenhouse-- "You're... joining me, then?"

"Only if you want me to." Claude meets Dimitri's eye and his expression becomes at once more serious, more open, and just a little anticipatory.

That note of seriousness doesn't escape the prince. In fact, for a few seconds, Dimitri's mind repeats those words, that tone, at him, as if he didn't quite comprehend the first time. Which he certainly did. He's just... still a little dumbstruck. "I-- would not mind."

"Then it's decided." Claude lets go of Dimitri's hand with only a little reluctance, gets to his feet, and stretches his tired muscles slowly. A bath really _does_ sound like a great idea, all else aside. But... _Well, we'll see._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bathing tent is a pretty great place to relax and rekindle an old flame, even if it doesn't turn out quite as spicy as Dimitri had imagined. (Yet. XD) Claude comes up with an idea for extending their time together.

"This way." Claude leads the way to a nearby tent, smaller and more sparse, where someone has filled one of the large tubs reserved for the noble officers with water warmed over a fire. Claude wasn't the one who insisted on the separation, but those who did were vehement, and his friends without titles assured him that they honestly didn't mind, so he let it go. For now, anyway.

Dimitri stands and follows Claude, aware of the eyes upon them for whatever brief time they're both out in the open. (Undoubtedly there are questions about the Prince of Faerghus shedding armor in the Duke's tent, but he's going to pointedly ignore those implications until he cannot possibly, or until he dies, whichever comes first.) "I can't say we have such a setup in the Kingdom camp." Dimitri himself declined most of the luxuries the others attempted to afford him regardless, so he really doesn't know if they've done such a thing or not. He glances back toward the tent's entrance, seemingly... uneasy, almost. "But... a warm bath does sound quite nice."

Claude is aware of the eyes upon them, too, but he pays them no mind at all. It still bothers him, sometimes, the rumors and whispers--even, or perhaps especially, here among his own army--but he's learned to push beyond them to more important things. Like the company of someone he cares about deeply, who's effectively back from the dead. He watches Dimitri's body language carefully. "Is everything all right?"

"Mn? I'm fine." Obviously not, for whatever reason. He's reminded quickly of how perceptive Claude is. Dimitri makes an actual effort to loosen his stance, turning back to the tub that-- _Ah. Wait._ "They... have prepared only one. Should we draw a second?" That is perhaps the most absurd question he has ever asked and Dimitri very much wants to drown himself in that tub.

Claude tries hard not to laugh, managing to turn it into a cough at the last second. Then he steps closer to Dimitri, his mirth softening into cautious affection. He picks up Dimitri's hand again and clasps it between both of his own. "That's up to you. ...you seem lonely, my friend. And worried about something."

More and more do Dimitri's walls seem to wear down, in Claude's presence. He can't bring himself to deny the observations--his shoulders are nearly as stiff as they were walking through the camp but a few minutes ago. "I suppose... that is one way to put it." He does attempt to muster up a smile, though. Perhaps he succeeds. "... one is fine."

"If it's the troops outside you're concerned about, don't be. They know better than to disturb me unless it's an emergency."

 _If that's the case..._ Dimitri nods, forces his breathing to even out. To be in Claude's company does help his nerves, but not as much alone as the man's words do; even now, he so easily knows what to say in order to placate him. "Should... we begin, then?"

There's still more he's hiding, Claude's sure of it. The part of him that always hungers for answers begs him to ask, but Dimitri needs company and care right now, not the third degree. He looks up into the prince's eye and he can still see the Dimitri he used to know, buried somewhere under the despair and war-weariness. He brings one hand up to lightly touch Dimitri's cheek, then moves it down to his shoulder and gently tugs, a not-so-subtle hint that he wants to kiss him but, frankly, can't reach. This was much easier back when they were students...

It takes Dimitri a moment to realize what, exactly, Claude is requesting of him—but when he remembers, and dredges up some near-forgotten memory of a similar pose, a similar request... Dimitri pauses after he's leaned down, close enough that their breaths mingle, before pressing in to kiss him, so light and hesitant, so unlike the king in waiting and much more like the crown prince Claude knew.

Claude goes slow for the prince's sake, keeping it gentle and tender even as he tilts his head enough to press their lips more firmly together. It's like falling into memory, the first time they kissed all over again, except this time Claude is completely sober and there's no one else here to shatter the moment. Eventually he pulls back, holding Dimitri's gaze. "I've been hoping I'd get to do that again for a long time, you know."

Oh, how easily Dimitri could allow himself to get lost in this... by the time they separate that little bit, his hand has lifted, ghosting its touch over his cheek. So he isn't the only one who thought of this. Dimitri shakes his head. "I... would've thought that you wouldn't..." And maybe he feels silly for that. For thinking Claude wouldn't... want him.

”I don’t know why you’d think a thing like that, Your Highness.” Claude speaks softly, lightly teasing, as he rests a hand on Dimitri’s chest. “I suppose I’ll have to show you just how much I’ve missed you, so you won’t forget it.”

In spite of himself, there's no protest, no shying away in embarrassment; Dimitri's chest rumbles low with the pleased hum he gives in response, and his hands are exceedingly gentle when they find a place to rest against Claude's waist. He would have been content to be near him, to be allies with him—for all that he... wants this, and dreamed of it, it never crossed his mind that Claude would still...

He doesn't finish the thought. Dimitri takes that opportunity to lean in again and capture him, sealing his lips over Claude's.

Claude can feel the pleasant vibration of Dimitri's chest under his hand as he hums, almost like a purr. ...Lion, indeed. Claude, too, has had this dream, many times--even back at the monastery, he used to wake up with this on his mind. The dreams became nightmares when he thought Dimitri was gone; nightmares of loss and things he never had the chance to say, things that could have been, if only. So having the prince here with him again, and more than willing...it's a bit of a literal dream come true, and he doesn't intend to squander the opportunity. He will cherish every moment. In war, he's learned the hard way, you never know who you might never see again after parting ways. He leans into the kiss, sliding his hands from Dimitri's chest to his back--slowly, to feel the rippling of every muscle under the thin shirt. He slips his tongue between Dimitri’s lips and his fingers dig ever so slightly into the prince’s back.

It would be so easy for Dimitri to lose himself here, in this dream come to life; thoughts of the Kingdom, of Gilbert, of Edelgard are quiet, now. The voices are drowned out by his own heartbeat raging in his ears, and the need to feel Areadbhar's weight in his grip dissipates with Claude under thumb. Dimitri is so careful in holding him, caressing the small of his back with a cautious hand, while the other rises to entangle in his hair. It would be easy. There is a sliver of his mind, though, that remains to ward him away from such things, and it's with a few lingering kisses that Dimitri manages to pry them apart. A breath escapes him, a sigh that curls his lips into a smile. "I hate to interrupt, but if we keep this up, our bath will be cold before we even get to enjoy it together." As if he doesn't lean in to pepper his lips with more kisses in the meantime.

Claude can't help but smile, too, as Dimitri gradually interrupts and he catches his breath; he'd almost forgotten this little quirk of Dimitri's, the way he never just stops, always lingering at the end of a kiss like he wants extra to take away with him. It makes him a bit of a tease, even if he doesn't realize it, and Claude's not about to tell him and ruin it. "Good point." As Dimitri comes in for one more of those peppered kisses, Claude leans back and meets those lips with his finger instead. "In that case, let's not keep it waiting. After you, Your Princeliness. ;)" He gestures, as though ushering Dimitri to his throne.

Dimitri's certain he must look comical, now, lips pursed against his finger and eye widened. But he is able to laugh it off with ease, because when has Claude's company failed to brighten his mood? It's likely for the best that they get down to business, first, before... He pulls away, albeit regretfully, and begins to dress down from his remaining clothes. The prince is careful in peeling the shirt from his torso, only now aware of just how much blood has managed to soak through, though once he's freed of that, his hand lingers at... the nape of his neck. He purses his lips, considering... before carefully untying its ribbon and slipping the patch from his eye. "And you're certain this tub will be... big enough?"

Seeing Dimitri laugh, however brief, fills Claude with warmth. Seeing him start to undress fills him with...a different kind of warmth. His brow furrows for a moment, before he realizes he’s pretty sure most or all of that blood isn’t Dimitri’s. Claude rarely fights in close quarters; he’s a decent hand with a sword or an axe, but he avoids it if he can. So he can’t help but worry every time he sees one of his friends emerge from a melee covered in blood. He lifts his eyebrows in brief surprise when Dimitri removes his eyepatch, but soon realizes it would be difficult to wash his hair without doing so. “I suppose that depends on what we intend to do in the bath.” He grins, but after a moment his expression softens and he comes closer again to reach up and gently move aside a lock of Dimitri’s hair so he can see the scar more clearly. “...you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” But the invitation is there, should he want to.

It takes every ounce of his strength for Dimitri not to move back. By instinct, his body tenses, a warning, an attempt to get Dimitri to cower away. More, though, he feels the warm brush of fingers, a barely-there touch against his cheek; were his eye still in its socket, the sudden light filtering through that scarred and shriveled eyelid would have startled him, likely. His other eye watches Claude, close and intent. What could he say? Still he hears whispers among his own, far less frequent now but unbearable back when the rumors of how he lost his right eye began to spread. Battle scars are prized in Faerghus, shows of strength and grit; the self-inflicted are a double-edged blade, then.

"Nothing so exciting." He smiles, minutely. He shifts focus, moves to flatten Claude's palm against his cheek, and possibly in some moment of panic resorts to distraction instead—Dimitri presses his lips to the man's hand, a silent, almost reverent plea. "A hunting incident. And little more." _Some other time. Please. Not now._

Claude feels Dimitri tense up immediately, and is about to pull his hand away when Dimitri presses it to his cheek, and then to his lips. Claude nods. "Ah, I understand." He runs his thumb along Dimitri's lips for a moment and then steps back to let him finish preparing for the bath, pulling off his own shirt in the meantime and tossing it to land precisely in a little basket near the tent flap.

"This is... quite a bit of blood." Dimitri inspects his trousers in hand, far less concerned about his nudity than the grime and filth and blood that coat his skin, not as bad as usual, but certainly... much worse than Claude, for obvious reasons. "Are you certain you don't mind...?"

Claude rests a hand on his hip, turning toward Dimitri and taking a moment to look him up and down before replying. Totally to gauge the extent of the blood and dirt, clearly, and for no other reason. "I don't, but if _you_ do, then why don't we take turns? You first. I'll help. ;)" He picks up a little pile of towels and makes himself a makeshift cushion on the floor beside the tub. "Then we'll draw another one."

 _Ah._ While the prospect of bathing separately isn't nearly as intriguing a one as doing it together... the suggestion of relaxing together, properly, once actual baths are out of the way smooths over Dimitri's feathers before they can ruffle themselves. He nods, ever obliging, and moves to lower himself into the tub with care, nearly hissing at the heat of the water—was he really worried about it cooling down before they were able to get in? Because it's nearly scalding, not that he's complaining. This is just what his sore muscles need...

"... thank you, Claude."

"Always." He fetches a cloth and kneels on the pile of towels to lean down and kiss Dimitri gently, sliding one hand into his long blond hair, while with the other hand he begins to wash the sweat and blood and dust from the prince's body.

It's difficult at first, to abide Claude doing this--to allow himself to be taken care of. Spoiled, even. So long has it been since Dimitri readily allowed another to touch him even while fully clothed. The last that someone's ever seen him this way, totally vulnerable, much less touched him... Probably never, he thinks, not since he was a child. The thought begins as some mere whisper but grows into a shiver, something both odd and delightful to consider. Claude is seeing his scars, _touching_ his scars, caring for him and this body so carefully. Even if he doesn't deserve it, Dimitri is greedy, selfish; he can enjoy it regardless of whether he deserves to. So he does his best to relax, closing his eye, letting his head fall back against the hand in his hair...

"... Claude. I wish to ask you something... if you don't mind."

Claude can tell that it takes a little while for Dimitri to relax, and he definitely remembers the scars--and there are more of them now, many more--but he doesn't pay any special attention to them or mention them. If Dimitri wants to talk about any of this, he will, and if he doesn't then he doesn't. When he was younger, Claude used to confront people about their secrets directly, push them, nag them until they gave up and spilled the beans. On the one hand, he can't deny that it worked. But on the other, he regrets somewhat that he was so pushy with some of his friends that it probably took longer for them to warm up to him than it would have if he'd just given it some time. And Dimitri clearly needs time. "Of course. What is it?" _No idle question ever began with that kind of preface._

"Well... I suppose it isn't really a question." Dimitri's nervous for an entirely different reason, now; whether by the bath or by his own disbelief that he's bringing up such a topic, Dimitri feels his cheeks burn. "I had thought... I suppose there was a part of me that thought you'd simply forget about me." It's one thing to welcome Dimitri into his camp, to side with him in battle when doing so is clearly advantageous, but... once past the initial awkwardness, and given the privacy, it almost feels as if... nothing's changed. As if a day hasn't gone by since Dimitri was that young and ignorant prince, pining after Claude, wondering when they could be more. Thinking that he was _worthy_ of being more, to him. "Are you... with...anyone?"

As Dimitri speaks, Claude pauses what he's doing, putting the cloth down and folding his arms on the side of the tub to listen without distractions. He tries not to look incredulous at the thought that he'd forget about Dimitri. How could he forget? His courage, his kindness, his steadfast heart...those warm, clear blue eyes...not to mention the way he kissed. All those lingering looks across rooms as though they were sharing some secret, meals shared during which they pointedly didn't hold hands...but more than that, Dimitri was always there to keep his feet on the ground when he felt lost, when he felt like running away and never coming back--which happened more often than he'd readily admit. If it weren't for Dimitri, he probably would have fled Garreg Mach ten times over. "...Hilda, off and on. But it isn't serious." As far as he knows, anyway. The two of them rarely have a conversation without that mutual layer of protective distance. If Hilda has real feelings for him in that way, she's never said so, and he's never asked.

"No? You..." It feels so odd speaking of Claude in this way. Dimitri pauses, lowering himself just slightly into the water so that he might wet his hair, before coming back up and dragging a hand down his face. "Speaking plainly, you were always so alluring. Captivating. I would never have been surprised to overhear others as they... spoke the same sentiments. Nor would I if they were to, now." His head cants aside, and Dimitri raises a hand from the tub, reaching out, brushing his finger along the beard lining that jaw before moving on to trace the edge of his lip... if he's honest, he's surprised Claude isn't utterly drowning in would-be suitors. _Well, he might be..._ "I always believed you were quite out of my league." He merely knows it for fact, now.

Claude blinks--this is not where he thought this question was leading. His lips curl into a pleased smile at the compliments, but then he's back to blinking in disbelief. "I'm truly flattered, but--you're kidding, right? Out of your league? Dimitri, you're a league all your own. And I mean that in the best way." He takes the hand exploring his face in his own and brings its knuckles to his lips.

"Kidding? Not at all." Dimitri's so sincere as he says this, even as Claude's gesture nearly brings him to a stunned silence. How he would very much like to simply lean over and... no, no. They needn't get distracted; Claude, too, still needs to bathe properly. "I... forgive me if I cannot help but find it hard to believe." Which one of them always had others all over him, either admiring him from afar or being bold enough to express their desires in words, even if coquettishly? Dimitri doesn't imagine he's ever had anyone wondering after him, not as anything other than the odd prince from Faerghus. "I suppose that, whatever part of me did not wish to be _with_ you, wished that I could be at least somewhat more like you. Even now..."

A somewhat lightheaded feeling comes upon Claude, making him feel like he's once again seventeen and sitting with Dimitri under a clouded sky, listening in wonder to the prince gush about him without a trace of irony or empty flattery, without guile or contempt. For the first time in a long while, a blush colors his cheeks. "You do know I spent all that time wishing the same, right? I wanted to be with you. And I wished I had even a fraction of your bravery and integrity. You inspired me to stick with it at the Academy and keep pushing to achieve my dreams." He laces his fingers together with Dimitri's. "Besides, I don't subscribe to the idea that anyone is in or out of someone's 'league.' People make their own choices about who they want to be with. If you really hold me in such high esteem, then do the same for my opinion of you."

The prince can't bear to disagree, to deny him those thoughts—on some of Dimitri's hardest days, when his own humanity was at its most questionable, it was these such thoughts of his old friends, the flames that still lingered in his heart, that he used to drag himself back from the brink. When Claude chastises him so - he doesn't, really, but that's almost what it feels like, not that it hinders the cautious smile on his face regardless – a hum rises in his chest. "I... suppose. It would be unfair of me to ask you to take my feelings seriously while doubting the sincerity of yours." And he'd very much like to believe them real, truly. He squeezes Claude's hand, briefly, before letting go to brace it against the side of the tub. "We should, perhaps, draw another bath now. I believe I'm as free of filth as can be." So clean that he struggles to comb his sopping hair from his eye.

Claude's a bit relieved to hear Dimitri accept his words so easily. He sounds much more like the prince Claude knew now than he did an hour ago. "All right. I can hardly call someone here, so I'll have to do it myself, if you can bear to be without my company for a few minutes. ;)"

Dimitri nods his assent, careful (and quite remorseful) in extracting himself from the warm water as Claude takes his brief leave. A hand hovers over his eyepatch, considering, before dropping back to his side; the man has already seen it. Seen more of him than anyone else. Why bother to hide as if he hadn't? He claims a towel to wrap around his hips.

Claude draws the bath as quickly as he can while still making it warm enough for the water to do its work. Once that's done, he finishes undressing with little fuss and climbs into the tub, lowering himself slowly into the water and then sighing deeply as he relaxes into it, leaning his head back against the tub and closing his eyes. Gods, he's tired. But not tired enough to actually doze here...not with Dimitri around, anyway. After a moment, he slides further under the water, holding his breath and submerging for a moment to thoroughly soak his hair before coming back up to scrub his hands through it. It holds the grime of battle far too well.

Dimitri sits aside in silence for some time, taking care to wring his hair of water (it wouldn't do to make himself sick in the midst of all this) and taking careful measures to dry his right eye. Once he no longer has anything to idly hold him, he pauses, hesitates, before leaning ever so slightly closer to the tub. The prince clears his throat softly. "May I...? If you don't mind."

Claude looks up from carefully running his fingers through his dripping wet hair--longer now than it was, though he no longer wears the braid--to give Dimitri a smile. "Go ahead. I don't mind."

When Dimitri moves closer and buries his fingers into Claude's hair, it's much more gentle than it ever had been in the midst of their kisses—if anything, his every movement is slow, calculated carefully. "I always wondered what your hair felt like—without gloves on, that is." The light in his eyes could be described as nothing other than childlike glee, marveling at the soft curls under his fingers. Dimitri does what he can to massage his scalp with tenderness; he hopes he can help Claude relax as the other man helped him to.

Claude chuckles fondly, seeing that gleam in Dimitri's eye and feeling a certain glad satisfaction in knowing he could bring that out of him with something so simple. Sometimes, the simplest things make people the happiest. It works in reverse, too, as he seems to melt under Dimitri's fingers, relaxing his neck and shoulders and closing his eyes.

Seeing Claude relax so, watching as the tension eases from his muscles, is a feeling more satisfying to Dimitri than anything else could have been, these past five years. He's content spending more than a mere few minutes this way, moving to another patch of hair every once in a while, as if he aims to get every curl. After he's finally satisfied, he pauses, gently shakes the water and suds from his hands.. and then moves to tilt Claude's head slightly back, just far enough for the prince to leave a tentative peck against his forehead. "Thank you."

Claude looks up at Dimitri, feeling almost half-drunk with contentment. _That little gesture seems so...him._ "Those thanks are going in the wrong direction, my friend. Shall I hurry up and finish here so we can retreat back to my tent?"

"I wouldn't want to rush you. I enjoy seeing you so relaxed." Dimitri bends enough to dip his hands into the water, and cups a handful to draw over Claude's hair, in hopes of helping it rinse out. "I get the feeling it doesn't happen often these days, mm."

"You and me both, it seems." Since Dimitri seems so willing to help, Claude decides to go back to letting the prince take care of it, allowing his head to tip back and closing his eyes. "But I aim to make sure that we both get plenty of relaxation while you're here."

Claude's acquiescence is all the permission he needs. Dimitri goes about massaging the water through his hair, careful to keep it from his eyes. "As much as I would like to... at some point, I must rendezvous with the Kingdom camp. Wait too long, and Dedue will kill me himself." If he could, though, he would stay here forever.

"And here I was, planning to thank him for saving your life. ;)" Claude sighs. Dimitri's fingers in his hair are nothing short of heavenly, and the way he feels right now, he did not want the reminder that they'd just come from a battle and Dimitri would have to return to his own camp soon. "I'm enjoying how vague 'at some point' is."

Dimitri wasn't expecting Claude to actually call him out on that...! "I simply mean-! I have gone this long without seeing you. To part so soon would be..." It would make him a disgustingly needy mess. There isn't a point behind lying to himself about it. The thought makes Dimitri visibly sulk.

Claude laughs. "Unacceptable?" he finishes the sentence. "I couldn't agree more." He runs a hand through his hair, confirming it's rinsed through, and then leans out of the tub to grab another cloth and starts washing off the rest of the soot and grime.

Yes, Dimitri can agree to that. He nods, and suppresses a sigh, and laments that already thoughts of the Kingdom and his responsibilities have begun to swarm in. He'll have to find a moment to prepare himself for Gilbert's inevitable ambush—should he allow himself to stray even a minute off of the man's planned program, an earful will be awaiting him whenever the man can manage to get him somewhere private... No. He ought to simply... enjoy this time with Claude, for however long he has before their duties separate them again. Dimitri stands, replacing his eyepatch, before moving to his own bundle of discarded clothes to fetch a hair tie. "Another time, then." The shared bath, he means.

Claude smirks a bit. "I can take as many baths as you want, if you've really got your heart set on it."

"That is not the _only_ thing." Of course, he should've anticipated such teasing--! "I don't wish to worry the others. But even more... I hate to leave."

"If you think they'll be that worried, we could send them a message. 'Worry not, my companions, for I am safe and sound in the bath with Duke Riegan.'" Claude's Dimitri voice is not half bad, actually. Then he laughs. "But all jokes aside, we _can_ actually send them a message."

"I suppose that depends on how reluctant you are to be rid of me." Because he would certainly stay here for the night, if he could be certain his comrades wouldn't fear for him. He fixes Claude with a look, a mild amusement paired with a raise of his brows.

The look Claude returns is a strange mix of mischief and fondness; the anticipation that he might get to spend more time with Dimitri than just an hour or two. "Very." He stands and climbs out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel and shaking the water out of his hair in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a dog. "Let's put some clothes on and go find a messenger. How far is your camp?"

"From here... not too far. If I remember correctly from our trip here, it's likely only an hour or so away. Perhaps even shorter, for your fastest horse." That's difficult to say, though. For every hour the distance between himself and Edelgard shortened, the less Dimitri himself was paying attention to much else. He won't admit it aloud.

"And shorter still, for my fastest wyvern."

"Admittedly, I didn't quite think to bring my tent with me."

Claude comes closer and slips his arms around Dimitri's waist. "Oh, is that an option? Perhaps you should ask Dedue to come and drop it off. ;)"

"Really? I was expecting my generous host to offer up his own. I suppose I may have misread the room." Even as Dimitri says this, he moves to respond in kind without a thought against it, looping one arm around him, hand coming to rest against the small of his back.

"My tent is always open to you, Your Princeliness. But consider this: if they bring your tent here, you might as well just leave it here for the rest of this campaign. It would be a nuisance to move it twice."

"I suppose you have a point, but I will ask you this... what if I have no intention of using it?"

"Masterful counterpoint. I suppose you win this one, we'll spare Dedue the trip." Claude notes that Dimitri's growth spurt puts his neck at the perfect height for him to lean in and press his lips to it, nuzzling his jaw. "We're supposed to be fetching a messenger, right?" And yet, he doesn't stop what he's doing.

Yes, they are, and yet Claude is making it very difficult to focus on even this simple task. The hand against his back flexes; Dimitri is pulling him in as if they could possibly stand closer. "In... a few minutes."

Claude works his way up the prince's jaw, until he's forced to push up on his toes a bit to reach his ear, teasing the lobe with his tongue before brushing his teeth lightly over it. "There you go, being vague about time again," he murmurs quietly, directly into Dimitri's ear.

"Vague? Was I not clear?" Dimitri turns his head until his lips can ghost over Claude's, pausing, considering... before moving to catch his chin between index finger and thumb to hold his gaze. "I will fetch a messenger when I'm ready to leave."

A peculiar shiver runs down Claude's spine, despite the room suddenly feeling much warmer than it did a moment ago. His eyes widen ever so slightly, as Dimitri arrests his gaze with eye and hand both. "...clear as crystal, Your Highness," he murmurs.

An unintended response to Claude's teasing begets an interesting reaction in turn. Dimitri studies his face, the lowness in his tone, and stores that away for mulling over later. "Good," comes his answer, fingers sliding from chin to jaw, coming to cradle his cheek and pull him into another kiss; the arm around Claude's waist tightens there and pulls them flush together.

Claude's kiss is more insistent now, his tongue bolder and his blood running hotter as he slides his hands lower, stopping just at the boundary between skin and towel. Pressed close to the prince, the temperature in the room seems to climb even higher.

Somehow, it seems Dimitri's ended up taking the lead in this situation. Sort of. He doesn't mind--if he is going to make a fool of himself, Claude would be the person who he's willing to let see it, if he must. "Well?" He parts with a final kiss, a final tug of teeth against Claude's lip before explaining himself. "Do you care to continue?" he asks, something soft and insistent in his voice, in his eye. He presses forward ever so slightly, up against those fingers that dip beneath his towel just by their tips and thinks that he must be dreaming, really, to not only have found the man who's haunted his dreams but to be here _with him_ and touching him this way, it's... surreal, to say the least. A thought comes to him and, reluctant though it is, his hand skims its way up Claude's back, dusting his spine with featherlight touches until his fingers can bury within his hair. He seems to _like_ it when Dimitri does this.

That insistent look drives its way straight to Claude's heart, reminding him why he’s always trusted Dimitri. The hand traveling up his back imparts pleasant tingles until it grasps his hair, and he lets his head tilt back just a little at the pull, taking in a sudden breath that’s almost, but not quite, a gasp. “Is that a trick question? I’ve been waiting over five years for this.” His voice is low and tinged with a certain excitement, anticipation. Perhaps a bit of hunger.

"Then I won't be keeping you." Part of Dimitri finds all of this so distantly amusing—a mere hour ago he was deliberating, despairing, that there was no way Claude could still hold him in such regard, even if it would take the man seeing him, who'd he'd become, how insatiable he allows himself to be, to make it so. But there's no resistance, not intentional anyway, as Dimitri draws Claude back into him for another kiss, for as hungry and searing as he is. No disapproval for the hand that tugs his hair, the arm that grips him almost possessively to bring him closer, as if he doesn't already burn wherever their skin meets. The prince adjusts his hold, allows his other hand to slip past his towel and let nails rake gently over the base of his spine.

And then something occurs to him. He doesn't pull away, far from it; the hand in Claude's hair comes forward to take his chin, much gentler now, to catch his attention. He doesn't dare ask the actual question on his mind, though, so instead he settles for asking something else: "You're certain this is alright?"

As Dimitri’s hands slip lower, Claude is about to suggest that maybe they should relocate to his tent when Dimitri stops _again_. He tries his best not to groan in frustration, but he has to take a moment to catch his breath before replying. Then he lifts one hand from Dimitri‘s hips to gently take the hand at his chin and press it palm-down against his cheek, keeping his own on top. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

"Well, this is... this would be the first that we've ever gone beyond kissing." How juvenile he must sound. The embarrassment is clear again, dusting his cheeks pink, and Dimitri has to take a moment to gather himself. "Admittedly, I don't have much experience. Er... any, that is. And I merely wished--" The warmth of Claude's cheek under his hand finally crawls across his skin, and Dimitri's thumb runs a careful, brief circle against his cheekbone. "I only wish to be sure that this is what you want."

 _Oh...oh. All this hesitation makes perfect sense now._ Claude gently disengages and takes a step back, though it’s clear he’s not rejecting the contact - just slowing down. He keeps Dimitri’s hand flush against his face, to make sure he knows that. “I appreciate that. I assure you, this is _definitely_ what I want. But if you want to slow down, I’m fine with that, too. I’m sorry, Dimitri - I didn’t mean to rush you.”

Dimitri nearly fears that he's said too much, or perhaps hesitated too much, when Claude takes that first step away. But Claude is nothing if not placating; he must know every word to say to ease his worries, by now. Dimitri only smiles, and shakes his head. "You have nothing to apologize for, nor have you been rushing me. I have wanted this for some time..." He's tentative in his approach, and the kiss he leans in to press to Claude's lips is so gentle, a fleeting touch. "Just, ah, do... tell me if I happen to go too far, or do something that you don't like. I-- you are my priority."

Claude closes his eyes briefly to enjoy the light touch on his lips. "I will. But the same goes for you--you happen to be _my_ priority, so it works out well for the both of us." He smiles. "I think we should head back to my tent before we go on, though. And maybe send that message to let your people know where you are. After that, we'll have all the time in the world--well, until the sun comes up tomorrow, anyway. ;)"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Dimitri take full advantage of the privacy and the extra time they've bought themselves, even if Claude is an incorrigible tease about it.

"So I've realized I don't possess any clothes that aren't soaked in... viscera."

Claude laughs. Exactly when a scenario involving _viscera_ became acceptable for humor, he's not sure, but here they are. "Well, mine certainly won't fit you." He gives Dimitri's broad shoulders and impressive physique a slow, appreciative once-over. "But someone else's will. Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."

He leaves the tent without bothering to dress, apparently totally fine with walking the short distance from the bathing tent to his own in nothing but a towel. The soldiers are used to this by now. The first few times he did it, Lorenz was aghast and gave him an earful about proper etiquette for army commanders, but ever since Claude replied by telling him that if he had such a problem with it he could forgo the towel next time, Lorenz left him alone. Once there, he quickly dressed in something clean and made a beeline to Raphael's tent. Raphael isn't back yet, but...surely he wouldn't mind his buddy Claude borrowing some clothes for their other buddy Dimitri? He'll make up for it later.

He slips into the tent, fishes out a shirt and a pair of trousers, and heads back to the bathing tent. "Mission accomplished. You remember Raphael, right?" He hands the clothes over.

Dimitri endures a few minutes of awkwardly hanging around, of letting his hair loose a minute to comb fingers through and tame it into something manageable before tying it back up, re-situating his eyepatch on his face... when the tent flap comes open once more, it's nearly enough to startle him, the sudden breaking of silence. "Raphael? Yes, I do." One of few who came near to matching Dimitri's strength. "I remember when he attempted to interrogate me about my training techniques... and how the poor man nearly injured himself in the aftermath, once he learned."

Claude puts a hand to his face and shakes his head, chuckling. "Ugh, don't remind me. He kept showing up to class groaning about 'my muscles!' in this pained voice. Eventually, Teach told him to either go to the infirmary or quit complaining."

Dimitri smiles, even chuckles. He takes the clothes with a murmured thanks and begins to dress himself, marveling that they fit him quite well, or at least well enough. "I'm glad to hear that he's, hopefully, progressed past this." Almost certainly has, if the size difference in shirts is any indication. "I'll be sure to thank him later."

Claude resists the urge to take Dimitri's hand on the way back outside. There will be plenty of time for that in a few minutes. It doesn't take long to flag down a messenger and tell them to take whatever message the Prince wants to send to the Kingdom camp, letting Dimitri explain where exactly that is and how best to get there by air. Dimitri follows him, an obedient shadow; readily obliges when they prepare the messenger. From what he tells the woman, they'll have until tomorrow, likely late morning at the latest, before he'll need to scamper off back to his Kingdom allies--the longer he thinks about it, the less it seems that it could ever be enough time.

It isn't until they're left alone, wandering back to Claude's tent, that Dimitri speaks up again, careful to keep his voice low. "These few hours... I fear they'll not be enough."

Claude speaks quietly too, his eyes wandering the camp out of habit just to check that everything is fine, nothing is on fire, and no one is eavesdropping. "I fear you're right. That said..." He glances over with a small smile. "It isn't as though this alliance of ours ends when you leave. We're fighting a war together now. I'm certain two allied army commanders can find reasons to meet up. Or even go on the march together."

"I know." Dimitri's eye drops, briefly, to Claude's hand. How he wishes he could take it without causing some sort of scene. "But that is different from... staying by your side." Not to mention the sheer span that separates their homes, the distance between Fhirdiad and Derdriu... the prince lets slip that regal mask, enough that the grimace he takes on is nearly comical. "I... shouldn't be thinking such things. Regardless of what happens, I have every intention of enjoying the time I have with you, here and now."

'Staying by your side.' Claude's deliberately stopped himself from thinking too much about how they'll have to go back to their lives and their war after tonight, putting it off for the sake of filling his heart and mind with nothing but Dimitri until that time comes, the way he'd always used to _want_ to do. But now that the prince has compared it to actually being able to stay together...he can't help but think about it. He spent so much time burying the urge to say 'screw it' to all his responsibilities and obligations for the sake of pursuing Dimitri after the night they first kissed; and then the urge was replaced with a hollow emptiness when he thought Dimitri was dead. An emptiness that filled to the brim all at once the moment he saw the prince on the battlefield

At this moment, the urge comes back stronger than it ever was. It takes all his willpower not to say 'don't go back, stay with me.' Instead, he says, "I _did_ once tell you I wanted us to stand by each other. That hasn't changed." They arrive at his tent and he pushes the flap aside, letting Dimitri go in first. Once they're both inside, he adds, "But here and now sounds good, too. ;)"

By the time he's ducking into Claude's tent, Dimitri's nearly allowed himself to suffocate in those thoughts--returning to the Kingdom army, to Fhirdiad, the throne that awaits him... But Claude's voice, wonderful Claude with those honeyed tones of his, manages to snap his wandering mind back to the present. Dimitri wrangles a smile, and then it becomes a genuine one, too, when he stops to think that they _do_ have some hours before he'll have to wake and scurry his way back to the army... the moment they're both inside, shut away from the outside world once more, the prince nears without wasting a moment and takes up Claude's hand in his own. "Here and now... that is what matters." His lips curl against Claude's knuckles; his words are little more than a pleased whisper.

Claude looks up into Dimitri's face and can't help wondering if this is really the same man he found on the battlefield just a few hours ago. It's like he's a completely different person. The prince before him is more or less exactly the way Claude remembers him from the Academy, but earlier...he's been trying not to think about it, but the image of Dimitri's stony expression as he flatly declared he would have Edelgard's head, the beastly aggression with which he flung his spear, these still linger in his mind. He certainly isn't about to bring it up _now_ , but...at some point...

He shows none of this unease on his face, though, and soon pushes the thought away for later. The Dimitri before him is the one who's come back from the dead like the sun coming up after a long night, and it's high time they pick up where they once left off. The rest can wait. "So, Your Royalness, where shall we begin?"

 _Begin? Ah._ Back into that unfamiliar territory. Dimitri seems to hesitate a moment, though eventually decides that whatever they do would be best done in comfort. He leads Claude by the hand in his grasp and brings him back to that spread of cushions, lowering himself first before giving his arm a gentle, but insistent, tug. From the redness of his cheeks... he's trying to coax the man to sit _on_ him. "I suppose that I can't get away with 'whatever, so long as it's with you'?" He tries for a smile, though it comes across rather embarrassed. He's only smooth when he's not intending to be, and Dimitri himself is noticing this quite quickly... "Mm, somehow, I can't help but feel that that's the truth, though kissing you does sound nice, right now."

Claude cocks his head, as it takes him a moment to figure out what Dimitri's after with that tugging. Once he does, he obliges, seating himself in Dimitri's lap with one leg on either side of him, so he can face the prince and get close. "It's a sweet sentiment, but it's just as vague as everything else you've said today." He grins. "But kissing, that I can do." Even sitting down like this, he has to look up, so he reaches up to wrap his arms around Dimitri's neck and pull him down into a kiss, letting himself fall back as though he assumes Dimitri will hold him up.

Dimitri's nearly pouting again at that soft jibe, but of course he can't get upset. He thinks it's quite nice, to have found the one person who won't take him so seriously all the time--and then Claude's settling fully into his lap, and the prince curls his arms around his waist to keep him there, fortunate enough that he manages to brace in time to keep them both from crashing to the floor.

It doesn't take long for the prince to fall back into Claude's rhythm, and soon that sensation of warmth curls and roils in his gut, building steadily every time their lips slot together perfectly. Fingertips brush along skin - he only hopes Claude doesn't mind the feel of his hands, calloused and scarred as they are, once they slip beneath his shirt - one at the small of his back and the other tracing the lines of his abdomen, drifting slowly ever upward. "I don't think--" He speaks between kisses, unable, it'd seem, to bear stopping long enough to speak properly, "--I'll ever tire of this."

Claude relaxes into Dimitri's arms, lazily enjoying the sensations of his lips and his tongue, his hands and his hair that brushes Claude's face, feather-light. He chuckles, watching the prince try to kiss him and talk at the same time. "I'm not exactly--" kiss "--bored myself--" kiss "--but hold on just a minute." He pulls back a little, just far enough to pause the barrage. "I've never been much for multitasking. ;)"

He shifts, pulling himself up from a sitting position to a kneeling one--one knee on either side of the man before him, and straightened up so he can actually look Dimitri square in the eye. And get some leverage. "It seems as though I may need to take matters into my own hands." Teasing, impish. And literal--he takes Dimitri's face in his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair and kissing him with more force this time, deeper and longer, exploring with his tongue and holding him fast. He intends to take Dimitri's breath away.

For a Dimitri of the past, this would have been enough. It was all they ever did, back then, and the young prince of Faerghus would've been content to tuck these heated kisses and sensations away into his memory, even if he recalled and enjoyed them with no small amount of shame... but when Claude changes their pace, and a tinge of command appears in his tone, firmness and insistence in the grip of hands against his head, the thing in his chest growls its contentment without reserve, a deep and rumbling pleasure he vocalizes without much thought.

His own grip moves to Claude's hips, nearly bruising in the press of fingertips against skin once they finally dip below the waist of his trousers—he doesn't know where this comes from, this sudden instinct of Claude's to take the lead, but surprisingly the boar prince puts up no genuine fight. He will allow himself to be placed in Claude's hands; few could make such an attempt and still draw breath, these days, much less have Dimitri derive some form of pleasure from it. He may be helpless to stop the assault against his mouth, but the prince has other plans, other ways to retaliate—that grip on his hips wasn't only for show. He presses, or more accurately pulls, Claude down against him, meeting him halfway with a long and slow grind of his own hips, and Dimitri chuckles lowly when he realizes Claude has him half hard already from mere kisses and pretty words alone. Of course he could do such a thing.

Ah, Claude thinks. The game they began so long ago continues, does it? He recalls Dimitri getting the upper hand easily then; it seems now is his chance to turn the tables. The press of fingers at his hips is less gentle than any of the prince's touches so far, catching him off-guard, but not unpleasantly. He grunts in surprise as Dimitri pulls him down, and it turns into a low groan at the prolonged contact his slow grind brings and the way Dimitri's voice dropping into its lower registers sends a tingle down his spine. He finally breaks the kiss to drag his lips lightly from Dimitri's mouth, across his cheek, to his left ear, and slowly run his tongue over its curves before whispering, "Is that all you've got, Your Highness?"

 _So, he wishes to tease, now._ Dimitri will be glad to play at that game. He can't be bothered to abide nerves or anxiety now, not when Claude has laid out such an appetizing challenge... he brushes off a shiver and moves to take advantage of their position—Claude's chosen to leave all of his weight hanging from Dimitri's shoulders. The prince pushes, rising onto his knees and sliding a hand from underneath Claude's clothes to press flat against the floor of the tent – the cushions are a fortunate bonus, because while he's aware Claude is no porcelain doll, the last thing he'd want to do is actually hurt the man – and in the span of a mere few moments they've switched, with Dimitri on his knees between Claude's legs, pressing him bodily against the pillows. The eye that bores through him shines with an amusement he's struggling to keep from his face.

"Not nearly." He tests the waters, shifts more of his weight from knees to hips to pin the Duke; caution still lingers in his mind, an awareness that if he were to lose focus, he could end up hurting Claude, and so he's careful in the force he exerts when he rucks up his shirt. Dimitri doesn't hide his appreciative hum once he comes into view (all lean muscle and subtle curves--) and wastes no time before flattening his palm against it, dragging down and down until his fingers find that light trail of curls. "You would do well not to toy with me."

This is exactly what Claude hoped to accomplish, and he can't help a low, victorious chuckle as he hits the cushions. Here, on his back, with Dimitri between his legs and pinning him to the floor, his striking blue eye intense and full both of mirth and desire--it's _perfect_ , and he bites his lip, squirming ever so slightly against Dimitri's weight. He tips his head back with a faint noise of satisfaction as the hand finds his flesh again, and as it inches lower and lower his hips push up from the floor to meet the resistance holding him down, fanning the flames of the rising heat inside him.

How gratifying it is for Dimitri, knowing that he could make Claude look at him this way.

"Oh?" It's as much breathy exhalation as it is a word. Claude reaches up to slip his hands under Dimitri's shirt and slide it up, pulling it over his head and off if he's not stopped, keeping his palms in contact with skin for as long as possible. "But toying with you is so much _fun_." He reaches back up with both hands to run them over Dimitri's shoulders and down his chest.

Dimitri offers no resistance when he's stripped of his shirt. He figures he much prefers their back-and-forth to merely dominating this conversation; it seems he's even willing to make himself patient, allowing Claude those seconds to touch him however he pleases, and to enjoy the path his touch burns along his skin. It isn't often the prince will think much of his own physique, but color him satisfied that Claude finds it so clearly pleasing... that manages to drive a lighter chuckle out of him.

His hand pauses, fingers dipped partially into Claude's pants—he's certain to keep his knuckles pressed flush against him, choosing instead to direct more of his efforts into towering over him, leaning close until they brush with every rise and fall of the man's chest beneath him. His lips find Claude's collarbone and caress him so carefully, tonguing along the line of his neck, and his words drawl with contentment when he speaks against his throat. "Toy with me, tease me—I'm fine with all of it, so long as it's you."

 _Fucking tease._ But the thought is as amused and fond as it is frustrated--Dimitri's not doing it on purpose, and the thing he just said is not only incredibly sweet but incredibly trusting, and Claude is remembering now why he used to think the prince was so naive--and he takes a moment to just lie back and enjoy the feeling of Dimitri's lips and tongue, the warmth of his closeness. Those fingers he's got poised right at that cusp down there are a little maddening, though... "Is that so? At the moment, it's _you_ doing the teasing." He takes his revenge for that move Dimitri pulled earlier, rolling his hips into slow, rhythmic thrusts against the weight keeping him pinned against the pillows to cause friction.

Before Dimitri can think to ask for clarification, Claude's moving beneath him, and that friction is shooting sparks through his veins. Dimitri barely manages to stifle a gasp, though doesn't hesitate a moment before chasing that sensation. "To be fair, I-– mn." The prince takes a moment to adjust, and moves his hand to steady against the line of Claude's hip, falling back into the rhythm he's seen fit to set. "I'm trying to-– follow your lead... even if I'm doing an awful job at it." 

"You're doing just fine." Claude keeps the pace leisurely and even for a little while, gradually building up the tension for himself while he watches Dimitri slowly lose himself in it, running his hands over the prince's broad back and digging his fingers in. If this really is his first time, as he seemed to imply, Claude wants to make it as memorable as he can.

Dimitri has no more smart remarks, no teasing words when his breaths come hard, and the kisses he traces against Claude's shoulder and chest lose focus—the prince finds himself growing pliant to Claude's ministrations the more he's wound up, and come a certain point, it's all he can do to try and stifle his grunting and groaning against him. He can't bother posturing anymore, not when it's been so long and he's thought so _often_ about this, about being here with Claude like this–- "I take it back," he mutters against Claude's neck, "I can't bear your teasing..."

Claude laughs. "Then let's change things up a little." He finally pushes back against Dimitri's weight, moving to roll over so that the prince is nestled on his back in the pillows instead. He hopes Dimitri will go along with it, because he's pretty sure if the other man had a mind to keep him here, he'd have no choice but to obey. ...which is no bad thing, actually, but it doesn't seem like the best way to give Dimitri the experience he deserves right now.

Dimitri's confused a moment but, as always, complies; he moves to fall onto his back, holding his arms open to allow Claude to situate on top of him. It's quite funny, he thinks—to remember his thoughts from years ago, how similarly they would play out, and yet the real thing is so drastically better, leagues above his imagination. He smiles, feeling that telltale flush come back to his cheeks and Dimitri settles his hands on Claude, once the other man is in position over him. The prince manages to distract himself, rubbing circles against his legs, straying closer to his inner thighs and drifting away, before he gets too close. "What are you planning?"

For a moment, Claude questions his decision that Dimitri isn’t teasing him on purpose, but the pink in his cheeks persuades him again. Claude has lost count of how many times the prince has blushed since he got here; he loves seeing Dimitri’s face like this, with its shy, pleased embarrassment that makes him look years younger and tells Claude he’s doing something right. “You should know by now that I don’t give my secrets away that easily. ;)” He drops forward onto his hands and knees, then lowers himself further, hushing the prince’s questions with his lips. One lingering, questing kiss to tease, before he moves back to hover above him again, making a show of considering it. "But for you...I'll give you a hint." He leans down again, this time to whisper slowly and breathily into Dimitri's ear: "I'm planning to kiss you until you beg me to do something more."

The kiss is a balm for Dimitri, a smoother fire than the one in his veins. He chases that sensation even once Claude pulls away and marvels at the warmth that lingers on his lips. There's a comeback on the tip of his tongue, a retort he hasn't thought entirely through, but it vanishes just as quickly as it came when Claude begins again. How this man ensares him with every word... how he shivers in anticipation, when Claude's words graze the shell of his ear.

"Please..."

Claude takes Dimitri's earlobe between his teeth and lightly flicks it with his tongue, before drawing back to look down at him. "Already? Don't think that's going to appease me." He begins with the prince's cheek, soft and sweet, before he moves down kiss by kiss to his jaw and then his neck, slowly making his way down to his throat. By now the kisses are warmer, wetter, slow and deliberate, with his tongue emerging every so often to run briefly along the skin. As he goes along, he runs his hands over Dimitri's shoulders and down his arms, shifting his weight to press him down into the cushions while he continues his journey. Then he's moving again, along Dimitri's collarbone and down his chest, where he lingers to pay special attention to both nipples, glancing up as he does to watch the prince's reactions.

"O-of course not." It's so difficult to draw his attention anywhere else. All Dimitri feels is that wet, burning trail Claude paints against his skin, the weight of the man atop him as he moves to claim him inch by painstaking inch. He isn't certain which will happen first, his heart _imploding_ or–-

"Claude," he whispers harshly—a choked groan lodges in his throat, and his back arches just so and Dimitri, for all he feels he's being driven slowly mad, manages to keep from sinking his nails into Claude and instead anchors himself to the cushions beneath them. Claude's ministrations against his chest are a bolt of heat straight to his groin and, despite himself, a low moan slips from the prince's lips before he can stifle it. "There," he breathes, and tangles a tentative hand into Claude's hair, so attentive, so careful not to hurt or to pull too hard. "Mn, there..."

A wicked grin spreads across Claude's face as he works, watching the way his attentions drive the prince crazy, hearing him speak his name in such a tone. Seeing Dimitri lost in the throes of desire keeps the embers of his own flame burning, low but steady. And yet, the hand tangling in his hair is still so hesitant, so gentle. He knows, of course, of Dimitri's great strength, and it's touching that he's being so careful, but... After one last lingering, open-mouthed kiss to one nipple, he reaches up with one hand to clench around Dimitri's for a moment, digging that hand further into his hair. "Harder." Then, with a parting caress, he leaves the chest behind, resuming his unhurried exploration of Dimitri's body with his lips to trail wet kisses down the sensitive skin on the inside of his other arm.

Dimitri watches Claude as if in a daze, when he can manage to keep his eye open. When Claude reaches for his hand he almost assumes that it's to pull him off, fearing that he might have pulled without realizing it, but-- _Harder._ Dimitri's mind swims, unable to process. "You..." By reflex (he refuses to think he'll do anything simply because Claude asks) Dimitri complies and tightens his grip, feels those curls slip further around his fingers... and in an instant, as if nothing had happened, Claude turns his attention elsewhere again, and that wetness is back again, tracing the curves of his arm, now.

Claude's tongue makes its way to the prince's palm. He gives it a lick before lifting Dimitri's hand and taking his fingers into his mouth one at a time, sucking and stroking them with his tongue at an excruciatingly slow pace. This affords him another opportunity to watch the prince come apart piece by piece, and he stares into Dimitri's eye as he works, pausing just long enough to murmur, "Are you enjoying yourself, Your Highness?"

The warmth of Claude's mouth envelops him finger by finger, and the prince is... near speechless. For a moment he flounders in silence, lips parting, forming around a silent word, and then closing again. It seems all he can do to hum his agreement, but the hand in Claude's hair seems to tighten, and the finger in his mouth presses ever so slightly further... When Claude pulls away to speak, it seems to snap him from that stupor. "... y-yes. I am."

"Good." Claude busies his mouth again with flesh instead of words, giving a muffled groan of pleasure as Dimitri's hand clutches his hair even tighter. The way his efforts steal the prince's words right out of his mouth is indescribably satisfying. But soon he's moving once more, returning to Dimitri's chest and beginning his descent. The kisses trail down his abdomen toward the line of his trousers, insistent and steady now but still unbearably slow, as Claude lets his hands wander Dimitri's body, thumbs gently circling his nipples and palms basking in the feel of skin and muscles and even the scars.

When his lips reach the barrier of cloth, he slides his hands down to Dimitri's hips and breaks contact again to look up at him. "May I?"

The trip down Dimitri's body is agonizing. Once Claude has deemed he's finished with Dimitri's other hand, it rises to his face, wrist pressed tight against his lips in an effort to silence his sounds, soften the harshness of his breaths. He can't look away, though, for all of his breathless embarrassment; he watches as that head of curly hair descends, fingers kept curled against his scalp. "You need not ask," he chokes out, but he understands why Claude would and appreciates it, too, nonetheless. He breaks from his tugging for a gentler stroke through his locks, now, as if trying to express it. "You're... maddening..."

Claude chuckles deep in his chest to hear the stifled sounds coming from Dimitri's throat and see the way he forcibly muffles them. He doesn't consciously decide that his new mission is to break the prince's self-enforced silence, but the idea lingers somewhere in the back of his mind as he feels Dimitri's hand relax and stroke his hair softly. Claude leans into it like a cat and grins up at him. "I aim only to please, Your Highness. If it's maddening, perhaps you should begin begging soon. ;)"

He carefully unclasps the borrowed trousers and slips them off, pushing them aside to run his hands back up Dimitri's legs and resume the journey. His lips travel down, down, inching toward what seems to be their destination...but he shifts off-course, pressing his kisses across the prince's hip and down to his thigh. Down, and down still further, slowly making his way inward until the warm, wet trail becomes dragging his tongue along the inner thigh, so close but never quite arriving. His hands reach up to drag his nails down Dimitri's hips, not too hard but not exactly gentle either, until his hands rest on either side of the--he laughs to himself even as he continues to tease with his tongue, as his mind provides the words _the lion's pride._

And there he enters a holding pattern. And waits.

Of course, Dimitri should have assumed that Claude would tease him even now. He stills himself in his anticipation only for the man to veer last minute; he manages to keep himself from groaning aloud, because that would only serve to play into Claude's hands. He almost can't even be embarrassed about being fully naked, now... Almost. That self-consciousness lingers still, even if the man already has seen his whole body. With a shiver, Dimitri manages to prop himself upon an elbow, a huff of air escaping him.

Begging, hm. If he must...

"Claude," the prince utters, eye bleary with his desire, and the hand in Claude's hair tightens its grip, briefly, but significantly. "Claude, please, I-I cannot... I've wanted you for so long." The prince shifts his hips, mindful of Claude perched above him, and after a brief quiet to gather his thoughts back to him, Dimitri lifts his head again to look at him, properly. "Please... I'm yours. To do whatever you wish."

 _Mine._ It's a strange thought; no one's ever said such a thing to Claude before. If it were anyone else he might chalk it up to bedroom talk and nothing more. But Dimitri...he speaks what he feels. Always puts his whole heart into each sentiment--something Claude's always had such trouble doing, but it comes easily to the prince. And after everything else he's said today? He truly means it, Claude's sure. Such a weighty responsibility it is to have Dimitri, the man he's dreamed about for years, the would-be king of Faerghus, place himself wholly in his hands, at his mercy. And Claude may make light of many things, but a real responsibility to those he cares about isn't one of them.

He looks up to meet Dimitri's gaze. "Very well," he says, and his voice is warm and oddly serious for having spent the last half hour or so teasing Dimitri relentlessly. "What I wish is for you to remember tonight for the rest of your life." His smile brims with affection before giving way to a lascivious grin. With great care, he finally wraps one hand around the base of Dimitri's length and takes the prince into his mouth, fulfilling the promise all his teasing has made at last.

There's something... something in his eyes, in his voice, when Claude answers him. Dimitri very nearly comments on it—there's a cold shiver that traces its path along his spine but it isn't unpleasant, merely... different. Something different. Something in the man he's never seen before. But without giving Dimitri the opportunity to ponder much further, there Claude goes, obeying him properly for what may be the first time this night.

 _I will_ , Dimitri thinks, _of course I will._ But this is before Claude's taken the initiative to-– take _him_. The prince chokes on a gasp and his fingers clench on his locks, and it's with great effort that he manages to still his hips, pinning himself, effectively, down against the cushions. One of which is currently suffering under his other hand, the nails of which are digging deep into the fabric. He'll need to... he can't even think like this. The moment that Claude's name on his lips devolves into a keen is the moment that his thoughts lose meaning, or maybe he just can't think at all, feeling the warmth of Claude's mouth around him, the writhing of his tongue, every tremor of every breath...

A muffled grunt escapes Claude as Dimitri's hand renews its grip on his hair with fervor, but though it does hurt, it's in the best way. He feels the prince's body tense up under him, and from the way he's absolutely demolishing that cushion, Claude suspects it won't take much longer. He doesn't slow down, though--he spent long enough teasing, and now he wants to give Dimitri the gift of release. He works up to a rhythm, and when he hears the sound that he knows means Dimitri has lost himself to the sweet, mounting tension, he keeps it steady. And when the prince finally does reach his limit, cresting that wave, Claude will be right there with him to guide him back to shore.

In the distant part of Dimitri's mind that's still capable of thought, even given his inexperience, he thinks he ought to... oughtn't he warn the man? He feels the tremors in his bones and knows he's approaching that precipice far too quickly but it's too much; the only warning of his release is one final tug against Claude's curls just before he comes, and a hoarse, drawn-out groan he can't think quickly enough to stifle.

At the least, he's well-behaved about it. The tension never leaves his body, strung tight, hips stilled forcibly, as if somehow he still possesses the presence of mind for it. When he does collapse back against the cushions, when his hand does loosen its grip on Claude's hair enough to rest lightly against his head, Dimitri's thoughts come drifting back to him... and almost immediately:

"A-are you alright?" His eye is bleary, when he lifts his head to look down at Claude, struggling for a moment but managing, eventually, to push himself onto a shaky elbow. "Claude?"

Claude takes a moment just to breathe, resting his head on Dimitri's stomach and reveling in the taste of the prince on his lips, the low heat still stirring in him at the sight and sensations of that moment of release. At his words, though, Claude lifts his head to look at him. Mere moments after, and he's asking if _Claude_ is okay? "You took the words right out of my mouth." He laughs a little and pulls himself up to rest folded arms on Dimitri's chest and his chin atop them, looking up at him. "I'm better than fine. But what about you?"

The relief that washes over Dimitri is palpable. His face softens; the hand in Claude's hair moves now to stroke at his locks, brushing a stray curl from his face... he doesn't quite know what he was expecting, and he's a little embarrassed to admit he didn't anticipate that he would-– that he would just _swallow_ it like that—?

"You... will be the end of me." But he smiles, for as tired as he is. Dimitri seems wholly satisfied, content to lie here and quick to draw his arms back around Claude. He doesn't know how much time has passed, and from here, he can tell, barely, that there remains light to be seen outside. The sun likely hasn't set, at least not properly. It sounds like a very good idea, though, to drift off with Claude in his arms... their activities here seem to have only accentuated his post-battle weariness. His every limb feels filled with lead.

Claude shifts again as Dimitri's arms close around him, burying his face in the prince's neck and draping his own arms loosely around his shoulders. "If so, I hope it's the best end you could ask for." Dimitri is clearly too tired to continue, which means Claude is going to have to wait for his own release; but to be honest, rest doesn't sound so bad right now. Lying here wrapped in Dimitri's arms, warm and safe and knowing he's made the prince happy? He wouldn't trade this for anything.

"Sweet dreams, Your Princeliness."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude comes up with yet another scheme to prolong his time with Dimitri when they wake the next morning; Lorenz gives them a bit of a hard time over breakfast, but the conversation prompts Dimitri to realize something important.

By the time they wake the next morning, the sky outside the tent is just beginning to lighten into a chilly pre-dawn dusk. When Dimitri wakes with Claude in his arms, the relief he feels is immeasurable. Before he can even open his eye, his arm flexes, tightens around the man's waist; he's lying on his back, and Claude lies on top of him, straddling him just as he was last night. When the prince manages to lift his head, he's met with a head of curls against his chest; he doesn't hesitate to reach down and press his lips there, a light kiss to the crown of the duke's head. He doesn't want to wake him, but Dimitri knows it's brightening outside. From a sliver in the tent's flap where the morning breeze blows it open, he can see the sky alight in purples and oranges and pinks, cloudy but seemingly without rain. He'll have to return soon.

 _No_ , thinks that traitorous beast in his chest, the thing that spurs Dimitri to wrap both of his arms, now, around Claude and hold him close, a precious thing with which he's unwilling to part. _Not yet. There's still time..._

Wakefulness comes gradually for Claude, which is rare for him--usually, the smallest sound rouses him to full alertness all at once. But today, it's the warm comfort of Dimitri's arms that prods him awake, and for a moment he just stays there with his eyes closed, breathing in the prince's scent and listening to his heartbeat, letting his mind wander. To wake and discover that yesterday was _not_ a dream, that Dimitri is alive and well and here in his tent, fills him with a sort of lighter-than-air feeling. Finally, he yawns and lifts his head to see that clear blue eye looking back at him. It's still just a little jarring, the eyepatch...half-asleep with his eyes closed, he'd almost forgotten about it. He smiles a contented smile and presses a brief, light kiss to Dimitri's lips. "Good morning, Your Highness. I trust you slept well?"

Dimitri doesn't answer at first. He adjusts his grip, finding a solid hold; slowly, ever so carefully, the prince repositions them, easing Claude to lie on his back against the pillows so that Dimitri himself, now, is on top. He kisses him slow, stroking a hand absently through his hair, before moving to settle his head on the man's chest, eye falling closed again. How he could stay like this forever...

Claude lets Dimitri move him as he wishes, marveling again at how extraordinarily careful he is, how gentle. It’s...a very far cry from the man who impaled an enemy soldier through the throat with a spear yesterday. He doesn’t like that his thoughts keep returning to that moment, but he can’t stop them either. For now, though, it’s enough to bask in Dimitri’s kiss, to lie back and run his fingers through fine blond hair, to hold the prince in his arms and feel soft breath on his skin.

"Probably... probably the best that I've slept in five years," Dimitri murmurs eventually against Claude, and his eye opens again. "But I have to ask: must you insist on calling me that when we are alone? There is no 'Highness' with you. I wish to simply be Dimitri..."

“Heh...sorry. Force of habit. When you spend all your time making fun of someone’s title, eventually you just get used to saying it. ;)”

Dimitri is thoroughly placated by this. Gronder feels so distant, now--months, years ago rather than a mere day before. He can feel his bruises and minor wounds worse now, which was to be expected, but–- The feelings. The vitriol that pumped in his veins, the anguish that roiled in his gut... the caged beast had been freed, yesterday, unleashed upon the field, a bloodhound hunting its prey without cease. No prey is anywhere in sight, today: perhaps only that beast remains as it always does but if anything, it rests, purrs its contentment in his heart.

Memories drift to Claude's mind - another time when Dimitri made the same request over tea, and the time Claude asked him about nicknames from his childhood... He makes a face. “But your name is just too long,” teasing now. “So from now on, when we’re alone, you’ll be Dima instead.”

"Dima?" It almost doesn't register what he's said, but Dimitri's hazy memories of a world before war trickle back, at that provocation. "It's... been a long time since you've called me that." An even longer time, probably, since anyone has seen the real Prince of Faerghus. His eye closes again, a groan in his throat when Claude's nails catch against his scalp in a particularly pleasing way. "As you wish."

”Unless, of course, you’d prefer a more fitting title. Like Your Handsomeness. ;)” Claude’s content to simply lie there for a few minutes, though he stretches his arm out to reach for the blanket beyond the cushions and tug it closer to spread it over both of them in the chilly morning air. _Isn’t Dimitri cold...?_ But no, the Lions rarely ever were. He settles under the blanket and pulls Dimitri closer with both arms, eager for his warmth.

Dimitri would roll his eye at such a remark, had he the energy. As things are, though, Claude's presence is tranquilizing, and even more so once they're swathed in the warmth of the blanket he tugs over the both of them. Dimitri settles in with a yawn, content above all to feel those arms around him... if only the rest of the world could stop existing, just for a few moments. Just a little bit of time for respite...

Eventually, though, much as it pains Claude to admit it, the awareness that they only have a few more hours left at best becomes sharper. Which means he hasn’t much time left to ask the questions Dimitri wanted so desperately to avoid last night. Quietly, he says, “...can I ask you something?”

"Mm," Dimitri murmurs, and takes a second to allow his brain to wake up. That eye cracks open again; a hand snakes out from underneath the blanket and fiddles with the band at his neck. "Certainly..."

Claude hates to ruin their peaceful time together with difficult questions, but...worry gnaws at him like a hound with a bone. Whatever Dimitri has gone through, it must have been truly awful, for such a drastic change in battle and such a slow transition back to normalcy afterward. He'd never forgive himself if he sent the prince back to his camp saying nothing, knowing he could have done something and didn't. "What...happened to you on the battlefield yesterday? If I didn't know better, I'd think that was someone else entirely. Dimitri... Dima. Talk to me. Please?"

Perhaps Dimitri should have anticipated this. Had he known to expect Alliance forces to appear at Gronder, maybe he could've made the effort to stay away from Claude, or to at least... no. Even in the state that he was in yesterday, he knows they would've crossed paths, even if only after the battle. When Dimitri sighs, it's quiet. Hoarse. He feels so tired, as if the thoughts themselves have drained him of whatever sleep he managed to find, last night. "The Dimitri that you know..." He deserves it. Claude deserves to know, more than anyone. To know what kind of man he's shared his bed with—what kind of animal intends to take root in his affections.

"Even the Dimitri you knew in the past was... was not the Dimitri you thought that you did. That prince died that day, nine years ago in Duscur. I just... am not so adept at pretending otherwise, anymore."

 _Duscur._ Claude's read about the Tragedy--went out of his way to do so back at the Academy, as soon as he realized how closely it and the Faerghan royal family were related. It devastated him, enraged him, to read the Church's self-righteous and clinical account of the absolute atrocity the Kingdom army committed, and he'd gone out of his way to get to know Dedue after that. But he and Dimitri never really talked about it all that much. "...are you trying to tell me that the man I saw on the battlefield yesterday has been the so-called 'real' Dimitri for the last nine years? Because if so, I don't accept that." He sits up and nudges Dimitri to get him to turn over, so that Claude can pillow the prince's head in his lap and look him in the eye.

Foolishly, Dimitri almost says 'yes' right off the bat. But Dimitri knows Claude would never accept that from him, even if he doesn't have the entire story... even if he hasn't seen the extent of the shadows in his mind. Dimitri is hesitant, unmoving at first; but as he always does, eventually, he relents and moves to lie on his back. He refuses to open his eye; his brows knit, tugging on the tie of his eyepatch in a wholly uncomfortable way.

"Don't misunderstand," Claude continues. "I'm not...I can't imagine what you went through, and whatever pain you felt, or feel now, is real. But no matter how much violence, or anger, or aggression you bottled up all that time, those things don't define who you are. You haven't shown any of them since you got here, with me--you've been nothing but gentle. Who you are at your worst isn't all of you."

"When I was younger, I... anticipated nothing more than ascending the throne." Dimitri's whispering now, closer to breathing the words than properly speaking. "After it happened, I thought that they would finally listen to me, once I became king. That the wrongs my country, my own people, committed against Duscur... I believed that I would have the power to make them pay for their atrocities. That I... I could create a Faerghus where such prejudices could not exist. That I could help the whole of Fodlan follow suit, eventually, perhaps..." He sighs. "Look at me. I'm no more fit for the throne than I was the day of my birth. Back then, my determination was nearly all that kept me from driving myself insane... I was so certain that if I could continue to be the kind, young prince of Faerghus, even if I were only pretending, it would be true, someday, _eventually_... now, I haven't the strength for such charades."

It’s incredible, Claude thinks, how closely their ultimate goals align, and once again he wishes Dimitri had reached out to him much earlier in the war. “Do you hear yourself? You just finished telling me you wanted to ascend the throne so you could change Faerghus, and Fodlan, for the better, to help people and make right an atrocity. As someone who hasn’t been met with much kindness in his life, I can tell you that even if _you_ thought you were pretending, it was very real for me. And it still is. I’m pretty good at spotting charades, and I haven’t seen one out of you yet.”

"Claude." Dimitri's eye is open, now. "I terrified you, didn't I?"

Claude reaches down to take the prince’s hand. “No. You _worried_ me. You seemed lost, like you weren’t really there. I wanted to help ground you the way you once grounded me.”

For what it's worth, Dimitri is patient as he listens to Claude, even as the arguments pile higher and higher in his thoughts. He can't help the shake of his head, even once he finds his hand in Claude's grasp. Claude... doesn't understand. His voice was the only one over the years that hadn't scolded Dimitri for taking his time, for not being good enough, strong enough, and perhaps it was merely because such a significant part of him had always hoped that the man was still alive.

"Your ghost was the only one that didn't haunt me." It's easy enough to admit; he's lived with their voices for so long, now, and Claude has never judged him, never noticeably anyway. "The rest... they demand their tribute. They wonder why their vengeance has not come. And Edelgard still lives, and I have run out of excuses—"

Claude's brow furrows with concern. This sounds an awful lot like guilt, but where is it coming from? Dimitri can’t be held accountable for the actions of his country’s military while he was still a child, nor is he in any way to blame for Edelgard’s bloody crusade. “Dimitri, whose vengeance could you possibly be responsible for?”

"Who else?" As if it doesn't bear explaining. "I am... perhaps the only one left alive who not only knows the truth of Duscur, but has the power to rectify it. I was young, but I was _there_ , Claude, I-– even as a child, I was not so ignorant to fall for their manipulations." He's too exhausted to delve so deeply into the matter, right now. Maybe sometime later he'll tell Claude about it... "I haven't... been able to feel much else for so long." _Not since you_ , supplies that quiet voice in his mind, and it makes his hand tremble in Claude's grasp.

It breaks Claude's heart to see Dimitri like this; it’s enough to make _him_ want to find someone to declare vengeance on, though there’s obviously a lot he doesn’t know about this situation. “Then, if you truly feel you must shoulder this burden, let me help you with it. We’ll stop Edelgard together. And after that - the sky’s the limit. With the king of Faerghus and the leader of the Alliance joining forces, we can accomplish anything. We can reshape Fodlan, and bring a new dawn for everyone. Just like you always wanted.” He leans down to press a gentle kiss to Dimitri’s forehead.

 _A new dawn, hm._ Maybe it shouldn't surprise Dimitri that Claude, too, would possess such lofty aspirations... damned if Dimitri doesn't believe that the duke actually stands a chance of making such dreams a reality. When Claude leans close and the prince feels a brush of lips against his skin, his hands reach for him, threading through his hair and managing to pull him closer, despite the awkward angle, enough that Dimitri can kiss him in return. He only manages to catch his upper lip, and only half at that, but he had no patience to reposition for anything more proper...

"Do you mean that?" _You won't leave?_

Claude chuckles and disentangles himself for a moment, so he can shift position to sit beside Dimitri instead and kiss him properly, one hand cradling his cheek. “Yes, I mean that. Even back at the Academy, all my plans and schemes were working toward an end - a dream. To abolish borders and break down walls...so no one ever needs to be an outsider ever again. I mean to fulfill it, once we’ve won this war.”

 _That... will have to be enough._ Dimitri takes comfort in Claude's willingness, in spite of knowing what he's become. Maybe he'll change his mind, maybe he'll decide later that Dimitri truly is a lost cause, but even if he only has him briefly... Dimitri knows that he ought to cherish this while it lasts. "Coming from you... it sounds beautiful, that dream. To know that we share it brings a warmth to my heart that I haven't felt for... years."

”I’m glad.” Dimitri sounds so lonely. Claude knows there’s more he doesn’t understand, and maybe he can’t, but he intends to try; and the way the prince immediately seemed to wilt as soon as they talked about his own problems tells Claude things are serious, indeed. “Keep that warmth with you when you go back. As a reminder that I’m with you, even when I’m not there.” He lies down again, resting his head on Dimitri’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around the prince’s neck to keep him close. “Although right now, it’s tempting to just postpone the war for a while and stay here all day...”

 _A reminder..._ how Dimitri wishes it were Claude himself he could keep with him, instead. How torturous this will be, to be deprived of him (how selfish he is, to consider this and only this in the midst of this war). The prince almost burrows further against the cushions, eyeing the one he nearly shredded last night in the throes of... he can't think such a thought so seriously. "Were you... serious? About joining our march on Enbarr?"

Claude resists the urge to cut the conversation short with a kiss or twelve to the prince’s neck - so tempting, from this position. “Deadly so. Although it’s _our_ march on Enbarr that _you’d_ be joining. ;)” He plays idly with Dimitri’s hair as he talks. “Fort Merceus is the biggest obstacle, obviously...but I have some ideas for getting around that.” Ideas that, he suddenly realizes, will involve exposing his Almyran connections to Dimitri and the Kingdom army as well as his own. Well...it was bound to happen eventually. Might as well be now.

"I-–y-yes, naturally you know what I mean..." It's Claude with the legitimate army, after all; _his_ people are not considered outlaws, criminals against their own state. If anything, the Kingdom forces are more a bolster for those of the Alliance.

”Of course I know what you mean, I was joking.” What an odd thing to take so seriously...but Claude lets it pass.

"I can't really say that I'm surprised. That you would already have plans in the works, that is. I don't believe that I could act with the same... reserve, were I in the position to lead that charge."

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re working together, then. I’ll get us through Fort Merceus, and you lead us to final victory in Enbarr. This alliance is going to do wonders for morale, too.”

"Coming from you, it sounds... obvious. Or, perhaps... simple. That the end of this war could seem so close..." Dimitri feels the press of Claude's hair against his cheek, and nuzzles against it without thought. It's a surprise that even Glenn, usually the most vocal of all of them, is almost silent now: nothing but a soft whisper of a chant, that the end is nearly at hand... "As for morale, I would hope so. The citizens of Faerghus have had to comply with the Empire's whims... but I know there are many who hold the same sentiments as I. I can only hope news of our joining will bring them some comfort... some hope. I know that it does for me."

Claude leans into Dimitri's nuzzling, knowing his hair must be a downright disaster by this point and not caring in the least. He suppresses a chuckle at the way Dimitri worded that... 'our joining.' Obviously his meaning is clear, but--well, he doesn't want to embarrass the prince further, nor interrupt his heartfelt words, so he keeps his reaction silent. "For me as well. The moment that I saw you were alive...it was so hard not to break formation just to see you up close. To talk to you, after all this time thinking you were gone. The word 'hope' seems inadequate for what was in my heart right then." _And even now._ "I have no doubt that the rest of the Deer will be thrilled to see that you're well, too."

"I'm sorry." Dimitri, too, went through those feelings—hoping against hope that Claude was still out there somewhere, never quite giving in to that despair even when his parents would tell him that he, too, was gone. "It... sounds awful of me. I'm glad that the Deer are alive and well, as much as can be expected, but I–-I cannot focus on anything but you. You... are alive and here, and you almost seem as if you haven't changed a day. You astound me."

Claude doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Dimitri speak of him this way. Usually, when someone says he astounds them, it's...far less of a compliment. The Deer stand up for him when others in the army get too vocal about their suspicions or misgivings about him--it happens less often now that he's led them to a few major victories, but less often isn't never--and he'll always be grateful for their support, but when Dimitri says these things it's different. It provokes a kind of strange wonder in him, a feeling of pleasant lightness.

"Hey, right now, I'm definitely not complaining that you're focusing on me. ;)" He does press a light kiss to Dimitri's jaw, now. "Believe me, I know what you mean. Getting the news of your death...well, that was a dark time, I admit. I'm not usually one for regrets, but there was so much I'd never said to you back at the Academy, feeling then like I had all the time in the world."

"Mm... I can say the same of the Lions, as well," Dimitri replies. "I've no doubt it will be a weight off of their shoulders to know that we've allied with you. From our position, news of the Alliance... was difficult to come by. It killed me, the chance that something might have happened to you. I almost didn't believe it, at first..."

Claude hums a little in thought. "I know it's a bit impractical right now, but we ought to try to celebrate our alliance with a meeting of both armies. Nothing fancy, but getting everyone together even if just for a little while would mean the world to them."

The suggestion is... not an unwelcome one, when Dimitri takes a moment to consider it. Morale hasn't been explicitly low, or anything of the sort, but their march has been long and tedious, and when coupled with the strains of their own homeland hunting them as fugitives... perhaps a small reunion with their old classmates could help improve their mood around camp. The prince moves to lay a hand on Claude's hip. "That doesn't seem a bad idea. Even if Edelgard retreated successfully... Gronder was still a victory, in a way. If anything, it marks the beginning of this alliance. I suppose we wouldn't need something so elaborate as some feast, but perhaps simply enjoying a meal and a night or two of rest in the presence of comrades..." He presses another kiss between Claude's brows. "You... are full of good ideas."

”They don’t call me the ‘master tactician’ for nothing, you know.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous epithet. It’s so heartening to hear Dimitri call the battle at Gronder a victory despite Edelgard’s retreat, considering his single-minded pursuit of her yesterday. “Don’t get me wrong, though - when we win this war, I’m going to throw the biggest feast you’ve ever seen. And then...” He props himself up on an elbow so he can kiss the prince--once, twice. “Then you owe me a party in Fhirdiad. You’re supposed to show me how it’s really done, remember?”

"I remember." And how embarrassing a line it was. Leave it to Claude, never allowing Dimitri to truly live down his bad flirting... he returns those kisses with a subtle fervor, chases him down for a third and final kiss, before Claude can escape him. "Mm, I'll have to keep an eye on you, however. Somehow, I can't help but doubt that you've gotten any better at holding your alcohol... and I don't wish for you to cause a scene for yourself. Faerghus will still be recovering—I don't know that it could handle a Claude above a certain threshold of 'utterly drunk'."

"Sorry, what was that? All I heard was Dima making excuses to keep his eye on me all night long. ;)" Claude comes back for a fourth kiss--looks like that third one wasn't so final after all. This one lasts a little longer.

"I don't need excuses. So long as I wish to, I'll do as I please." He's melting again, though, under the force of Claude's kisses. And to think the duke teased him once over chasing him after each one... "Claude," Dimitri warns, "we've already sent the letter. If you start this..." Then he probably won't be making it back to his own camp on time.

"You can't say things like 'I'll do as I please' and then expect me to _stop_ wanting to kiss you..." Claude's eyes take on a crafty gleam. "You know, if we're planning to bring our armies together for a celebration, there's no reason for you to go back to camp, is there? Just send another message and tell them to join us here."

Dimitri is starting to get the impression that Claude enjoys his assertiveness a little too much. "You truly think that would be alright? Dedue may have more than a few choice words for you, Claude." He doesn't know the state of the Kingdom forces, if they'd be prepared to make such a trek... with the strategy they employed before fleeing, though, Dimitri doubts they had it any worse than the Alliance army. "Mm... you've ruined me. Now you need not even try to convince me..."

"That sounds like a yes to me. I dare Dedue to take a look at all the happy faces in both camps when we announce our alliance and still be disgruntled about it. Besides, you said it yourself--we have the more advantageous position for continuing the march to Enbarr." Claude leans down to kiss Dimitri again, refusing to let the world outside the tent ruin this. His logic is both sound _and_ in alignment with his heart--an unbeatable combination.

Well. Even if Dimitri wished to, he couldn't argue with that. His kisses are his agreement, a slow building of fervor, gentle fingers brushing Claude's jaw... an arm wrapping around his waist and the other hand moving to catch Claude, pushing him away just slightly by the chin. "Messenger first." His eye glimmers.

Claude hums low in his throat in contentment, letting Dimitri set the pace. When the prince pushes him back and makes his caveat clear, he sighs dramatically. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Messenger first.” He gets to his feet and stretches with a yawn, before offering Dimitri a hand to help him up.

Loathe as Dimitri is to face the day, perhaps it will be bearable, so long as he needn't separate from Claude for too long. He accepts that hand gratefully, moving to find Raphael's shirt and tug it on, tuck it in. He remembers absently that his clothes are probably left still in the baths; he'll need to bank on Raphael's kindness a little longer. "A messenger, and then something to eat. No point running about on an empty stomach."

"I'd argue, but my traitorous stomach is siding with you. ;)" With neither the blanket nor Dimitri's warmth, Claude shivers and pulls on his heavy jacket before putting on his boots and venturing outside. He's not normally up so early unless it's necessary--or unless he doesn't sleep at all--but he has to admit, watching the sun rise in the crisp, clear air is a stunning experience. The prince, naturally, is far less disturbed by the early-morning chill; after taking a moment to comb fingers through his hair and tie it back properly, he emerges to accompany Claude side-by-side—not before pausing to take up his cloak sans mantle, still in decent condition, and drape it over an arm. Just in case Claude should need something more, of course.

Claude goes about finding the same messenger they sent last night to go back and carry the new message to the Kingdom camp, letting Dimitri write the letter once again. Then it's off to the cooking fire, where they can sit and enjoy the fire's warmth in addition to breakfast. "So. Should we tell them now, or wait and surprise them when your army shows up?"

"I haven't mentioned our alliance in the letter, so perhaps we could make the announcement once they arrive? Prepare for a breakfast together, and replenish what the Kingdom army uses from our own stores?"

Having realized how hungry he is, Claude eats with enthusiasm, sitting close to the fire for its heat and lamenting that he’s forgotten to bring his gloves. “I was hoping you would say that. It’s not every day I get to spring a surprise on two whole armies at once and watch their reactions. ;)” He puts his bowl down for a moment and holds out both hands to the fire. “I knew there was a reason I never get out of bed this early if I can help it,” he grumbles.

Dimitri does what he can for his meager appetite, though fortunately his breakfast is varied enough in texture that he can down it easily. He isn't blind to Claude's odd fidgeting; he's in just as good spirits as always, something that helps the prince's own good mood persist, but even before he outright admits that he's cold, Dimitri sees right through him. He has no gloves to offer but does, perhaps, have the next best thing. He sets his food down carefully, taking the cloak he'd left bundled up at his side and unfurling it to drape over Claude. Dimitri is precise in fastening it across his chest, and then sweeps it to wrap around him properly; the man is nearly drowning in the royal blues of Faerghus. "Better?"

Claude remembers the way Dimitri used to gently tease him when it snowed at Garreg Mach, and how the prince couldn't stand more than a few minutes in the sauna. He pulls the cloak closer and buries his hands in its fabric. " _Much_ better." The smile he gives Dimitri is as warm as the cloak, until it turns playful. "Did you bring this out here specifically for this purpose? You don't look cold in the least."

"Cold? This is but a nice, warm autumn breeze in Faerghus, dear Claude." From the smirk on his face, he means it; he's enjoying the light breeze through his hair much like a hound would, content with his rolled-up sleeves and all. "... and, I did." That admission is softer, though his smile remains just as bright.

"Is that so? I'd better plan my trip to Fhirdiad for the summer, then. Although that might deprive me of another opportunity to wear your cloak, now that I know you're so willing to let me." Claude grins, but his eyes are warm and grateful. He watches Dimitri for a moment, taking in his contentment and his smile. The prince looks...happy. The contrast between this Dimitri and the one he met at Gronder Field is so stark he can barely convince himself yesterday was real. If he has to keep making excuses to keep Dimitri here in order to keep that smile on his face, he'll do it for as long as he can pull it off.

"Mm, that's alright. I suppose that for someone unused to it, even the summer breeze in Faerghus might be a bit chilly. Never you worry, though—if I must, I will always lend you my cloak." They go back to silence again for some time, something quiet and comfortable in what is probably the first time in years Dimitri has felt himself... relax. Truly relax, not the sort brought upon by exhaustion after days without sleep, or by the emptiness after waking from yet another haunt in his dreams... How simple it feels. The rest of the world doesn't even exist.

That word, 'always.' Claude remembers, a long time ago, the first time he heard Dimitri use that word, and it struck a chord with him then, too. 'Always' isn't a concept Claude often considers realistic. Everything changes, as it must. Still, with Dimitri, he can almost believe that 'always' is something within reach. In what way, he's not sure. But any kind of 'always' with Dimitri seems like something he would work hard to achieve. In the comfortable silence that follows, he eats the rest of his breakfast and slowly drinks his coffee to ward away the consequences of getting up so early.

"Perhaps," Dimitri says eventually, "with you there, it would begin to feel like home again."

"Home, huh?" Another one of those words Claude doesn't often put much stock in. He used to say 'back home' to refer to Almyra, but...how true is that, anymore? And yet, is Derdriu really home either? Perhaps the only place he really ever felt at home was Garreg Mach...but they were there for such a short time, and so much of it was beset by trouble. And maybe it wasn't so much the place, anyway, as it was... "That's a sentiment I can get behind. I tend to see 'home' as something that's more about who you're with than where you are."

"Mm... yes, I believe I've begun to feel the same way." Can Dimitri feel otherwise, knowing that his old friends have remained beside him when even his own people, the kingdom he was set to inherit and to work himself to the bone for, are likely to shun him and what he has become? "Physical places... they have come to feel so arbitrary, to me. I suppose there's little to help it when living on the run for so long, hm." He's found it again, though. An anchor—the anchor that has remained in mind and heart after all these years, after every battle and every drop of blood shed. Is it selfish of him, clinging to Claude in this way? Possibly. Likely, even. But the prince leans into him, lets the comfort of their shoulders bumping soothe his fraying nerves.

Claude would reach out and take Dimitri's hand, if they weren't sitting in the middle of the camp bustling with people, and if his hands weren't bundled in their entirety in the bright blue cloak for warmth. So instead he just nudges the prince a bit in solidarity. "That makes us fortunate, then. As soon as your army arrives, we'll both be about as at home as we can be."

As they continue eating to the tune of another companionable silence, others begin to wake and make their way to the fire. Those who know Dimitri from the Academy greet him, some more cautiously than others. Claude makes a mental note to speak with the other Deer in private later. Some of them lost men to the Kingdom's heedless charge yesterday, whether because the prince's troops had orders to fight them or because they happened to get in the way, in the chaos. As their commander, Claude owes them at least a partial explanation. But the longer they sit here by the fire, the more these greetings turn into interrogations. What's Dimitri doing here? Wasn't he supposed to have died? Where did this Kingdom army come from, and what did they hope to accomplish at Gronder? Dimitri answers what he easily can, but Claude can tell that the more invasive the questions get, the less comfortable the prince becomes; the Golden Deer have never shied away from questioning authority figures before, and they're not about to start now. Claude usually loves that about them, but he keeps a close eye on the conversation when Lorenz moves from logistics and circumstance to motive, digging his heels in to grill Dimitri about his intentions.

"With all due respect, Your Highness, I find it rather difficult to trust a man who not 24 hours ago mindlessly charged Imperial forces with no care taken to discern that foe from our army, despite the fact that we shared your aim." At least he has the presence of mind to keep his voice down, Claude thinks; the last thing they need is more rumors undermining this alliance.

"We still share his aim," Claude interjects, "and we've agreed that our two armies will march together to Enbarr. _I_ trust him, and so can you, Lorenz. Take my word for it."

Lorenz scoffs, giving him a look that Claude can only describe as 'meaningful.' "Much as I would like nothing better than to do so, forgive me if I have a hard time trusting your judgment when it comes to the Prince of Faerghus, Claude."

Claude sighs. Of course, Lorenz would take the opportunity to throw this in his face. Back at Garreg Mach, while he and Dimitri were stealing what time they could with one another without actually being able to be together, a few of the Deer knew Claude well enough--or were keeping a close enough eye on him--to pick up the signs. Of them, Lorenz was the most willing to tell Claude to his face precisely what he thought of the matter. It wasn't personal for him, the way it was for some; he didn't care what Claude and Dimitri did behind closed doors, but he _did_ care about what the heir to House Riegan and the Kingdom's crown prince did, because such an affair would have serious political implications, were it to become known. And, as the heir to House Gloucester, it was his duty to ensure that Claude didn't put the future of the Alliance in jeopardy. Of course, those warnings didn't stop Claude from doing as he pleased--they just prompted him to take more care with the secrecy of it all. And he never told Dimitri about them, knowing the effect it would have if he did.

And then, when news of Dimitri's execution reached Derdriu, Claude tried to keep his devastation completely private. He tried not to let it influence his decisions. He tried not to mourn where anyone would notice. But as always, Lorenz was too critical of him to let him get away with hiding it entirely; and while he was sympathetic and expressed his wish to let Claude grieve in peace, he also warned the new duke to be cautious with his belief that the reason behind the execution was merely an excuse. People can change, Lorenz said. We don't know what became of the prince after the battle at Garreg Mach, he said.

Well, he was right, although not in the way he thought. And Claude hates admitting it when Lorenz is right about anything. But this history between them is making it more difficult for him to hold his tongue, now that Lorenz is being recalcitrant about his feelings for Dimitri yet again. "Your complaint is noted, Lorenz--"

"Is it?" Lorenz turns to Dimitri, now. "Because I do not believe I have fully articulated it to my satisfaction quite yet. Allow me to speak plainly, Your Highness. Claude's fondness for you is well-known to me. Therefore, I will be keeping a close eye on the both of you when we next enter combat, particularly if the Emperor herself should be present." Claude recognizes Lorenz's lecturing tone and hopes Dimitri doesn't take it too much to heart. "As you are no doubt aware, as a military commander yourself, the ability to trust those by your side to watch your back is crucial on the battlefield. And the Alliance needs Duke Riegan in one piece. So I would ask you this: given the choice, would you miss the chance to kill Edelgard in order to save Claude's life?"

Claude presses his lips together, his expression growing hard. Inwardly, it's a bit of a panic. He knows Dimitri will answer honestly, and he knows how driven the prince is to revenge, and how haunted he is by Edelgard's retreat--but if he were to tell Lorenz what Claude suspects is the truth, this attempt to join forces could wither on the vine right here. "That's enough--"

But Dimitri speaks up, then, his eye on Lorenz. "No, it's... a valid question." One that makes the prince sigh through his nostrils. He closes his eye for a moment, lets himself breathe, and think. "There will never be... only one opportunity to kill Edelgard. But there may only be one chance to save him. If it should be a choice between the two—it would not be a choice at all."

The prince turns, then, to Claude; there's severity in his gaze, not unlike his expression of earlier this morning, recounting his descent into this war... "It will be you. Every time."

Claude... stares wordlessly at him. He would never have expected this answer, nor would he have _asked_ for it. To know that it's true, and to be told this in front of someone else...his face flushes a deep red.

Dimitri is most certainly memorizing the expression on Claude's face. He chuckles to himself and gives the duke's shoulder a gentle pat, as Lorenz glances between the two of them and nods, after a moment of silent deliberation. "Very well. With that settled, I wish to say that it is quite a relief to know that you did not perish after all, Your Highness. If the Kingdom were to fall completely under the Empire's sway with no hope of recovery, I fear our chances in this war might be quite slim."

"I thank you for your consideration, truly." Dimitri dips his head a bit. "It was fortunate we caught word of Edelgard's presence in time to arrive at Gronder Field—I can't help but feel this meeting of ours will help turn the tides of this war. And please—just Dimitri is fine."

"Nonsense." Lorenz waves a hand. "You are a royal personage, it is only proper to call you by your title." He turns back to the duke. "Claude, I shall not endanger this collaboration of ours by speaking of any of this to anyone else, but--Claude? Are you listening?"

Claude is not listening. It takes him a long moment to realize that Lorenz and Dimitri have exchanged a few more words, and that Lorenz is now talking to him again. "...wh...uh. What?" He clears his throat. "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

Lorenz sighs, shaking his head. "I _said,_ I shall respect your privacy and keep this conversation between us, but do try to behave with _some_ propriety, will you?" His gaze flickers to the royal blue cloak pulled close around Claude's shoulders, before he stands and leaves the two of them alone again.

Eager to change the subject, Claude glances down at Dimitri's breakfast to gauge how finished with it he might be. "...so how long do you think it will take your people to get here?"

"Your messenger didn't seem to take too long to get there last night. I would say, given the time they already have to pack... we could safely double that time, with an additional few hours more for gathering their supplies together." Sylvain has always been something of a clean freak, but Dimitri isn't complaining when his organizational skills have helped him and their ragtag army out greatly, over the past days. He follows Claude's gaze, sheepishly, to his plate; the prince has never had much of an appetite, as most he went to the Academy with are aware, but he's only eaten about half of his breakfast. He attempts not to make his self-consciousness over it too apparent. "... it will be good to have everyone together again."

"It will. And don't worry about finishing that; I'm sure Raphael will come along and do it for you. ;)" Claude stands and stretches a bit, as much as he can while keeping himself wrapped in the enormous cloak. "Heh, did Annette ever tell you I caught her singing and dancing by herself once in the greenhouse? She was _mortified_."

"Hm? She did not, no--most of us were already aware of her fondness for songs, though she was always secretive about actually singing. I'm certain you must have embarrassed her." How nostalgic Dimitri feels, thinking back to those days.

"With the timetable you've described, I'd say we probably have most of the day to wait," Claude says. "I'll have to check in with my commanders and take stock of things, of course, but...well, I'm not usually even awake for another few hours, so spending them in my tent won't exactly throw off my schedule." He grins as he looks down at Dimitri.

The prince's chuckle is low, but clearly amused, though he's quick to bolt upright, standing at the mention of Claude's schedule, and his... tent. "Yes, of course. I imagine it would be much warmer there for you, as well." Not that he minds seeing Claude bundled up in the colors not only of _his_ country but of _his_ household...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Dimitri steal a little more time to themselves while they wait for the Kingdom army to arrive; Dimitri gives back the gift of release that Claude gave him the night before, and makes several confessions as they talk further about their hopes and dreams.

Claude leads the way back to his tent amid the early morning bustle. Dimitri said message first, and breakfast, and both are done. Now to steal as much time as they can.

He doesn't shed Dimitri's cloak immediately even once they get inside the tent with the flap once again closed to the outside world. "Now, I believe this business with the messenger and breakfast interrupted something. Whatever could it have been...?"

 _Straight back into it_ , _I see_. By the time Dimitri's securing the tent flap behind him, his cheeks have already gone red once more. Claude truly knows no mercy. He can't admit, whether out of embarrassment or the last shreds of his dignity clinging to him, that he wants more than anything the privacy to touch Claude. Dimitri approaches nevertheless, comes to stand behind him, rests a tentative hand on his shoulder... "... I adore you in blue."

Well, Claude didn't expect to hear _that_. He wants to turn around but doesn't yet, feeling his face get warmer. He isn't sure if Dimitri knows what it sounds like, that thing he just said, but he doesn't want to have to explain his reaction if not. "Oh? Maybe I should wear blue more often, then. Though I don't think the other Alliance lords would be as pleased as you are." He steps back to erase the space between them, putting his back up against Dimitri's chest.

"Yes, well... of course." Dimitri's hands move now to settle against Claude's biceps, a slow and half-hesitant stroke through the fabric of his borrowed cloak. "But, even if only when we are in private... you know, noble families in Faerghus use shades of blue to denote their connection to the House of Blaiddyd. The shade that you wear, however..." His voice dips low, and his head moves closer; lips graze the shell of Claude's ear in an imitation of a kiss, almost. "Is only for the royal family. Its direct descendants, and should they choose, their significant others."

It's hard to muster the mock indignation to tease Dimitri about basically having tricked him--not, Claude finds, that he actually minds--with his lips at his ear and his voice dropping into that register he has to know by now drives Claude crazy. It's not only his face that feels warm, now. He tilts his head back, his breath catching just a little. "...well-played, Your Princeliness," he murmurs. "I'm impressed, that was clever."

"Do not be. Believe it or not, my original intent hadn't been to deceive you." And now Dimitri's arms move to wrap around him instead, flush as they already are. His lips are able to find the nape of Claude's neck over the collar of his tunic and Dimitri decides it's well enough a place to leave his affections, dotting his kisses along those visible ridges of his spine there. "Loathe as I am that I cannot give you my cloak... were you to wear some other adornment with the royal blue of Blaiddyd, perhaps--"

Claude almost laughs at how much that's classic Dimitri--do something sweet, then realize halfway through that it's practically a--well, whatever this is. He's not entirely certain, and there's a faint thrill of both anticipation and trepidation brewing somewhere deep in his chest. He melts into the prince's embrace, with those warm lips on his skin, feeling a little lightheaded. "...perhaps what?"

"... you know how I am." _He probably doesn't, though, given the time that we've spent apart_. The prince takes a moment to readjust, mentally, and takes Claude's weight easily. "Seeing you in my color... it gives me a great deal of hope." It's an admission half-muffled by Claude's skin, though they're close enough that it likely makes little difference. "I am under no illusions as to the obstacles that stand between you and I... in that regard. So...it's something. A... small thing, in lieu of what I suppose I am unlikely to truly have."

The faint thrill becomes much less faint, climbing up into Claude's throat and stopping him from speaking for a moment. 'You know how I am'...he's not sure what that means. Is Dimitri really suggesting...he tries not to think about how the prince might have driven Areadbhar right through him yesterday had he not approached the way he did. That's not really Dimitri. It's just what's happened to him. And from the sound of things, no one else has done much to help him move past it in the last five years. Well, that's certainly about to change.

He finally turns around to face the man whose cloak he still pulls close around his shoulders, lifting one hand out from under its thick fabric to cradle Dimitri's face. He can't make promises he might not be able to keep. Besides, if the prince thinks there are obstacles _now_ , wait until he learns the truth...but at the same time, Claude likes the idea that seeing him in this cloak gives Dimitri hope. The anticipation he's feeling is tinged with it, too, though he hadn't really thought that far ahead until just now. His mind has been filled with the war--where to march next, how to win, how the Kingdom troops will change their strategies. And of course, the many excuses he could find to stay by Dimitri's side throughout. But he's been deliberately putting off looking any further than their victory in Enbarr. He only just learned that Dimitri was still alive _yesterday_ , for the gods' sakes.

Still, he can't say he isn't tempted by the thought of wearing Blaiddyd blue all the time.

"The future isn't written yet." _Who knows. Maybe if I can make my dream come true, the borders between our countries won't matter at all._ "But in the meantime, until it gets here, I would gladly wear your color in whatever capacity I can. Without starting a diplomatic incident. ;)"

The more Dimitri's thoughts linger, the larger they grow, the more they eat away at his insides until he's nothing but roiling anxiety, dread for the future in spite of the strides they make for the better here. He must truly be selfish, then, to be here on the path to creating Fodlan's new dawn and only able to think about... Well. He's only _ever_ been able to think about Claude, once the day fades and he's left with his thoughts. That ought to be a good thing, now that the man is here standing before him, and not a voice in his head chiding him along with all the others. Dimitri sighs deeply, feels the warmth of Claude's palm to his cheek and basks in it, chases it; he turns his head into that hand, renders his kisses across the meat of his palm. The future...

"Thank you, Claude." It's quiet, and perhaps fractured, when it leaves his lips. Dimitri manages to smile, though, and it isn't contrived. He'll never be rid of that anxiety, but Claude helps, truly, ever a bright moon lighting his path. "I... I want nothing more than to cherish whatever time I have with you, for however long I might have it."

"As do I. And while we're here in my tent alone, I have every intention of keeping your cloak right where it is." Claude takes both of Dimitri's hands and pulls him toward the pile of cushions, walking backwards to face the prince the whole way there. It's an oddly reassuring, oddly pleasing thing for Dimitri to hear. "I wonder if Lorenz knew about that Faerghus tradition..." Claude muses. The answer is, probably; but Claude finds that it doesn't really bother him to realize that. "If so, we might hear a few more lectures next time we go out there." He chuckles and sits down to lounge back against the cushions and gently tug Dimitri down with him. "I finally remembered what it was your insistence on being responsible war leaders interrupted."

"And?" At the mere allusion, Dimitri feels his blood starting to warm. He joins Claude down on the cushions, ends up half-kneeled between the other man's legs, and hands planted down on either side of his hips. "What was it, Duke Riegan, that you remembered?"

"Oh, is it _Duke Riegan_ now, Your Majesticness?" Claude lies back, spreading the royal blue cloak out underneath him and across the cushions, clearly teasing. "Well, Duke Riegan humbly requests the prince's presence down here among the mere lesser nobility. And by that I mean--" He reaches up to grab Dimitri by the collar and pull him the rest of the way down on top of him. "Get down here and kiss me already."

By the time Dimitri's truly joined Claude, chest to chest and barely managing to keep all of his weight from toppling over onto the smaller man from the force of his tugging, he doesn't have much of a will to resist. He lends his weight to his elbows so that he might kiss Claude easier, ever careful in the press of their bodies, in the hand that moves to cradle him at the back of the head... He'll never tire of this. To crack open his good eye and see Claude beneath him, flushed over a background of his own vibrant blue... there's a hum of appreciation in his throat with the nip he takes at Claude's bottom lip.

Even in his impatience to feel Dimitri's mouth on his and press close to this impossibly attractive man, Claude notes how cautious he still is, and likely always will be; it makes him rethink, somewhere in the back of his mind, the notion that Dimitri really might have killed him yesterday. Had they faced each other directly, he chooses to believe the prince would have spared him, even in his battle-frenzy; and he'd had no intention of firing with deadly aim at Dimitri. What it must be like, to know that in a moment of distraction you could crush anything under your hands without meaning to...he can, perhaps, understand why the prince always seemed so needy for his touch, even back at the Academy.

Well, he certainly intends to touch Dimitri as much as possible now.

He makes a small, pleased noise at that brief touch of teeth, and reaches up to slide his hands underneath the borrowed shirt Dimitri wears so he can run his hands over skin and toned muscles. "You know," he murmurs, slowly dragging his hands down that broad chest and brushing his fingers over the nipples, "last night was incredible. If you're amenable, we could repeat it. Perhaps the other way around this time."

The dip of Claude's hands beneath his shirt tears a low groan straight from Dimitri's chest. Surprisingly enough, the first thing on his mind at the man's offer is time—wondering if they have enough before he's to be expected, mulling over the sorts of things he'll be able to do to Claude with the time that they _do_ have... his kisses don't stop, though he does force himself away from those deeper ones so that he might respond, letting his lips linger instead along Claude's jawline. "I had already been thinking... that I ought to return the favor," he says. "Mm– I want to." His fingers slide to Claude's waist, dipping just slightly past, teasing and tugging gently on the fabric.

Claude can't help biting his lip in anticipation, hearing Dimitri say he wants to. He would, of course, have been content with simply kissing and touching the prince for hours on end, if he'd been uncomfortable with the idea; but to hear him so readily agree, to even say that he was already considering it...it's turning him on already, and Dimitri's barely done anything yet. "In that case," sliding his fingers down to the other man's waist before slipping his hands back out from under his shirt and resting them on the cushions above his own head, "it's your turn to do whatever you want. And I do mean _whatever_ you want." His grin is wicked.

"I doubt we have the time for what I want, but..." Already Dimitri's slipping the waistline of Claude's pants further down, ties loosened enough that he can touch him easier, now; he feels that trail of curls brush against his knuckles and wraps careful fingers around the man's length, drawing out a slow, lingering stroke, drinking in his expression with a hungry eye... "So long as it pleases you, I'll be content."

"We have time--" Claude's protest is cut short by a low moan as Dimitri starts in earnest, and _gods_ the feel of the prince's hands on him is exactly how he imagined it, and the ravenous look in that single blue eye watching him is enough to stiffen him further and send a flush up his face. "Tell me, then...what is it you want? If we had all the time in the world..." He looks up at Dimitri with half-lidded eyes and an expectant smirk. "What would you do to me, Dima?"

 _Everything_ , Dimitri's mind supplies. The ways he's dreamed of touching Claude, of driving him over the edge in pleasure again and again, it's... shameful, almost, the stranglehold this man held over his thoughts throughout the years. He leans closer, almost intent on devouring that smirk, but he was asked a question; Dimitri moves his attention elsewhere and that other hand of his moves, intent on ridding Claude of that bothersome shirt in his way.

"I'm selfish," comes Dimitri's murmur. He's rucked up the man's shirt far enough to expose most of his chest and moves his attention accordingly, the calloused pad of his thumb dragging across a nipple. "I've dreamt of having you all to myself for hours on end... of seeing how many ways I can make you fall apart." Even once his mouth descends to Claude's chest, he never lets falter the rhythm he strokes with his hand—it's slow, torturous, still so very careful... "As I said last night, I am yours, to do whatever will please you. It has been so for years."

Claude holds his breath for a moment when it looks like Dimitri might eschew words entirely and silence his taunting questions - and he would not have complained - but then he’s closing his eyes and humming with mounting need at the touch of the prince’s lips and tongue at his chest and at the things he’s saying. That maddeningly slow rhythm prompts his hips to rise from the cushions, as though he could make Dimitri go faster with his body’s insistence alone, but he won’t yet ask for that.

Drunk on pleasure, he doesn’t fully absorb the true meaning of what Dimitri says; were he clearheaded, he would be in awe of the place he’s occupied in the prince’s mind all this time, and happy to know he wasn’t the only one dreaming like that. Right now, though, all he can do is _want_ ; the excruciatingly slow pace and Dimitri’s voice speaking these words dominate his thoughts. “Do it all. It would please me to see every dream you’ve ever had come true.” He opens his eyes again to watch, feeling that it may not take long, this first time with Dimitri, and they might have time for more than they thought... “I’ll gladly fall apart for you, as many times as you like.”

Something in his words, the way that he says them... Claude isn't and has never been one to let himself be vulnerable, to embrace it so readily, and something in Dimitri's mind shifts. His attention drifts instantly, the ministrations against Claude's chest forgotten in favor of rising along the curve of his body to claim his mouth again (and if he ruts against Claude's thigh without meaning to, he ignores it pointedly, in favor of drinking in those delicious sounds from his lips.) At the raise of Claude's hips, the prince decides to take mercy, a small one, and his strokes come faster, now. "Don't tempt me." He very nearly growls it out. "I have no qualms with keeping you here until my army arrives--"

Claude himself isn't sure whether he would have said anything else or not, but neither of them gets the chance to find out, as Dimitri's lips quiet any words that might have come and his hand moves faster. The prince certainly has sounds to devour as the sudden shift draws them out, muffled against Dimitri's mouth.

When he stops to speak, the growl in his voice sends a shudder through Claude; oh, he'd forgotten this, the lion's purr that sets his nerves on fire. "Do it, then," he manages, almost more breath than words, followed by something that's half-chuckle and half-gasp. He wants to tell Dimitri how unbelievably sexy he finds that voice of his, but he doesn't want self-consciousness to make him stop using it. "Everything you've ever wanted to do. I'm not going anywhere until you're thoroughly satisfied."

The things that Claude does to him...

Dimitri's hands leave him suddenly, nothing to preface that loss of warmth but a harsh breath through his nose. He takes a moment, sits up and back, and as a hand moves to unfasten the patch from his eye, the other lingers on Claude, taking in the disheveled state of him; there's hunger in his gaze as it sweeps down the length of his chest, his abdomen...

Unlike Claude, the prince isn't much of one for deliberate teasing. When he's lowered himself back onto his hands, he's much further down Claude's body, the stubble of his chin grazing the man by his inner thigh. One, two kisses pressed against his leg, the weight of his hands settling firmly against his hips... he's pinned the Duke there, and matches the press of his fingertips with the weight of his tongue along the underside of Claude's length. He doesn't seem nervous, for all of his inexperience—if it will please Claude...

At first Claude looks up in surprise, hoping he hasn’t said something to upset or anger Dimitri. But seeing that greedy gaze consume him dispels any such thought immediately. He squirms a little under that gaze, deliberate and inviting. And when the prince’s powerful hands come down to still his squirming and pin him to the cushions, when the glorious warmth and wetness of his tongue press against him, a quiet moan escapes him as he finally brings his own hands down to bury in Dimitri’s hair. “Dima...” It’s more gasp than word.

A hum, appreciative and more than a little amused: Dimitri's never been one for an ego but he _could_ be, hearing every sound he manages to coax forth from Claude. He isn't slow enough to be torturous, not as Claude did to him (how cruel his lover is-- oh, that's a thought that makes him splutter mentally) but slow enough that he can enjoy it, Claude's reactions and the feel of him, the weight of him in his hand and on his tongue. Even when he moves to take Claude into his mouth, properly, the prince seems without reservation...

He goes slowly--as slowly as he can bear to, anyway--nails dragging lightly against Claude's hips as he sinks. He could do this forever, damn time, damn the world around them—Claude would probably scold him for thinking such a thing, but can it be helped when he holds the world in his arms, here in this measly tent?

 _Oh..._ oh, Dimitri is getting his revenge for last night, and Claude supposes turnabout is only fair play but perhaps he shouldn't have set _quite_ as effective an example... and then Dimitri's using his whole mouth and his nails, and Claude's hands clench in the prince's hair as he tries with only partial success to stifle the sounds begging to come out, his hips push up against Dimitri's restraining hands without apology because he knows they're much too strong for him to accidentally escape that pressure...

And _gods_ , Dimitri's going so slowly, and it's a bit agonizing but Claude wouldn't complain about getting to savor this for as long as possible even if he could summon enough coherent thought to do it. His only regret is that Dimitri can't somehow do this and drown him in kisses at the same time; what he wouldn't give to have the prince's mouth on his own right now... Eventually, though, his body can't take it, almost shaking in his raw need for Dimitri to pick up the pace, and he can't stop the word from leaving his lips in a breathless groan-- "Faster..."

"Are you enjoying yourself, Your Grace?" Dimitri's breath, light panting in his mild breathlessness, no doubt washes over the trails he's painted so carefully with his tongue, and that lone eye shines with such mirth, enough amusement for _both_ of his eyes, had they both still existed. The ghosts of his fingers drag along his length, thumb caressing him carefully and lightly.

 _Oh gods, he's_ stopping _now..._ Claude absolutely cannot keep back his groan of frustration this time, as those breaths keep just enough warmth on him to be teases in their own right. But it's part-laugh, too, as he looks up to see Dimitri looking at him like he's so incredibly pleased with himself for this little vengeance. " _You_ certainly are...ha...ahh--" He couldn't stop himself from trying to arch up against those feather-light fingers if he tried, but Dimitri's still holding him down and he _can't_ and--

"Is it not enough?" Dimitri doesn't wait for an answer—without so much as a pause for breath, he's enveloping Claude once again under his lips, quickens the pace of his bobbing head.

Claude lets go of the prince's hair to bite down hard on his own fist to muffle the husky moan that forces its way out as Dimitri finally takes mercy on him. It's definitely not going to be long now, and a part of him is disappointed at the thought, but he plans to hold Dimitri to that warning about keeping him here until the Kingdom army arrives...

 _Goddess, how lovely he sounds._ Dimitri mourns the loss of those hands tugging his hair but the sounds, so poorly stifled, loud enough to reverberate through the whole of Claude's body... the prince purrs his contentment around Claude and gives his hips a squeeze. He doesn't seem to care about the flimsy tent walls around them, he would have the whole of Claude's camp hear him-- But he must be getting close. He's so tense under Dimitri's hands, the subtle tremors that reach his hips enough of an indication that the prince can't bother teasing him any longer. He moves to please him in earnest now, to coax him closer and closer to that edge...

Dimitri's efforts bear fruit in no time, and Claude doesn't have the presence of mind to say anything or wonder whether the prince is going to be ready for this before his mind empties completely--a blissful rarity for him--and blessed release finally comes. He'll regret choosing to bite down on his hand to quiet himself later, as he clenches his jaw and his whole body goes taut for a long, shuddering moment before all the tension leaves him in a dizzying rush.

He doesn't have Dimitri's ability to miraculously think coherently and speak moments afterward. His hands flop back to the cushions above his head and he just lies there, panting for breath with his eyes closed, for a long moment. The only thing he can say, the word falling out of his mouth as though he's not even conscious of saying it, is Dimitri's name.

As Dimitri had suspected, and some foolish part of him had feared... he doesn't taste much of anything. Still, though, dutifully he guides Claude back down to Fodlan with nothing but gentleness, rubbing what he hopes to be soothing circles against the planes of his hips, slowing the bob of his head... When he pulls away, with a subtle, wet pop, the prince takes a moment to swipe the back of his hand across his lips and gathers the remnants of Claude's release before it threatens to reach his stubble. There's a kiss, then, that the prince places against the crook of his pelvis. "Claude?"

Claude finally opens his eyes again when Dimitri says his name in turn, gazing up at him with green eyes full of satisfaction and affection. "...present and accounted for," he mumbles, smiling. "You're a natural, you know that?"

"Ah?" It's an embarrassing thing to hear, though Dimitri's contentment outweighs it by far and his abashed smile only widens. He moves to his knees, drags himself back up Claude's body—his hands have already found Claude's hair and he busies himself brushing it from the other man's face, tucking it gingerly behind his ear. "It wasn't too much?"

Claude shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Dimitri as soon as he's close enough. "It was perfect. Though I'm wondering whether I might have taught you one too many of my tricks last night..." He chuckles. "Using them against me in revenge. Crafty move, Your Handsomeness."

"Admittedly... I almost felt bad. Teasing you that way, I mean." Dimitri obliges Claude's touches readily, settles atop him and drags his lips to meet the other man's for a kiss. "... earlier, when... I meant it when I said that what I care for most is pleasing you."

Claude returns the kiss easily, if a bit lazily, and pulls Dimitri closer. As if he would ever think the prince didn't mean every word that came out of his mouth. Those assertions do drift back to him, now that he's in a frame of mind to fully absorb them, and it's...heartwarming, amazing, and a little scary to think that even with everything else Dimitri's been through over the past five years, he still considered himself...the word he used was 'yours,' and it's still a strange thrill. "...I believed you. And trust me, you did that, and then some. And... _I_ meant it when I said I wanted to make all those dreams of yours come true. They were my dreams too." _At least, before I thought you were dead,_ he doesn't say.

It takes a moment of shifting around before Dimitri manages to find something comfortable for both of them, but eventually comes to relax, arms wrapped around Claude from behind. "Given the time I've had to think, I really... this is my dream, I feel. In part. The rest of the world, it seems, has yet to catch up... but having you here beside me is a great part of it, at least."

 _The rest of the world, huh?_ Claude settles back into Dimitri's arms, warm and content but suddenly thoughtful. "I'd like to hear about the rest. And...I'd like to tell you more about my dream."

"I would like that." It's quiet. Dimitri's arms squeeze just slightly around Claude. "This dream of yours... I would like to share in all of it with you."

"You first." Claude tilts his head back and turns to smirk at Dimitri. "Here I am, beside you...so what's left for us to make happen?"

"Well, you... all of what we spoke of before, really. Destroying borders. Ridding Fodlan of such unnecessary boundaries. My hope is... should I be fit to rule, that my reign will be the foundation. But I do not expect to be able to begin such a task in my lifetime." The prince stops, and shifts, and begins again after a moment of deliberation. "As well as I am able... I would wish to clean this filth that stains Faerghan nobility. The way that we do things, the customs we have set into practice... in my country, so many of the people we govern have lost their voices."

 _'Should I be fit to rule'..._ Claude almost refutes that again, but he's said his piece on the matter; it'll be up to Dimitri to decide whether he really does feel ready, when the time comes. Instead, he just listens, with a bit of a sigh. "I'm afraid it's not just your country, but everywhere. I've heard similar tales of the Empire, and even in the Alliance most of the nobles are too busy protecting their own interests to care how it affects the people, despite all their talk of fairness. And..."

Ever since their Academy days, being with Dimitri has made him want to be more honest. To let the prince in on things he would never tell anyone else. To truly be himself, in a way he hasn't been able to do for most of his life, if ever. Dimitri's relentless ability to speak what's in his heart without reservation has always been strangely infectious, and now...well, if they're going to march together to Fort Merceus, Dimitri will find out about Nader soon enough anyway. He turns, rolling over a bit so he can look up into Dimitri's eye. "And it's not just Fodlan, either. Things are no different in my homeland."

The weight of Claude's words hits the prince slowly, gradually... his eye widens where it stares at the canvas wall, though as always he is silent as he processes this. Such a simple way to phrase what is a... well.

"And what of your homeland?" His words are spoken with a softness brought on by apprehension, and caution: Claude has always held his cards so close, enough that what most would consider secrets couldn't be called so. Secrets stood a chance of being revealed, but not, it always seemed, those that the Duke held so dearly.

And he's honored. That's the first realization Dimitri comes to—honored to be trusted with something like this. His eye is soft, when it flickers down to meet Claude's.

Claude watches Dimitri's reaction carefully, but for once, without much dread. After what he said about Duscur last night, Claude can't imagine him reacting poorly to this now. And if he does...well, then the infiltration of Fort Merceus was never going to end well anyway. "When we were at the Academy, did you ever talk much with Cyril?"

"Cyril? I can't say... I recall seeing him around the monastery, but he always seemed busy. I didn't wish to interrupt."

"Heh. He sure does keep himself busy. All for Lady Rhea." The sarcasm is only mild. "Cyril was born in Almyra, and he lost his parents in one of their constant skirmishes against the Alliance at the border for, frankly, no good reason at all. They don't intend to invade, or even to raid, really. It's a show of dominance, nothing more. But bloodshed is bloodshed. Cyril joined the Almyran army at the age of 13 just to survive. And then he got captured and forced into servitude, until Rhea took him in."

 _Way to be honest by telling someone else's story instead of your own, Claude._ "Which is all to say that in my homeland, the nobility would rather show off how strong they are than take care of the children orphaned by their pointless wars."

"Are you in a position to... change such a thing?" Dimitri's mind is rolling in circles considering the political implications, attempting to fill in the gaps without even awaiting an answer... a single brow arches above his eyepatch as he mulls it over.

 _Ah, there's the million gold piece question._ If anyone in the world would understand, it would be Dimitri...right? But he can still hear the Faerghan prince ask him 'do you mean that?' when he promised to work with him to fulfill their dreams together; and now, with all this talk of staying beside each other... Still, he's come this far. If he stops now, he'll either have to outright lie to Dimitri, which he finds himself loath to do, or deflect the question, which will answer it for him. _Now_ the dread is kicking in, though, and he has to force himself to say these final words, force himself to look Dimitri in the eye instead of looking away.

"...I could be." Claude takes a breath. "My father is the king of Almyra."

Dimitri's speechless, for some time afterward. His expression goes through those subtle motions as he processes and, to his credit, he manages not to stray too far into the realm of absurd faces... though it falls, briefly, subtly, at the emergence of a certain thought. "In that case, your biggest barrier... would be the Alliance, would it not? I... you-- ought to know that you have my support — my belief. In you, I mean. But I... do not know how much help I can be. You know of Faerghus' history with the Alliance..."

Claude tries to be patient, waiting for Dimitri to say something; at the very least, he doesn't look angry. He tries to ignore the instinct to back away, distance himself, close the door he's opened. Too much, too soon?

But no. He blinks, hearing this response, and though he manages not to laugh, his eyes fill with amusement and gratitude in equal measure. "Thank you. To be honest, I wasn't sure what you would think. You're the only person I've told since I first got to Derdriu seven years ago." He traces his fingers along Dimtri's jawline with a light touch, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. "I do know that history, and that's exactly why I need your help. I meant it when I said I wanted us to do this together. This isn't just about Almyra or the Alliance for me, and what you plan for your reign in the Kingdom is the same. Everyone gets a voice, and no one is an outsider. Besides...Fodlan's Throat might open up sooner than you think." A certain gleam in his eye, at that.

If Dimitri felt fortunate before, now he... he doesn't know _what_ to think. Can he truly be the only person Claude has told such a thing for so long? It almost seems too hard to believe... if he didn't know the man. He's placated easily by Claude's touch and melts against the hand at his face. "I don't think that anything could change my opinion of you. If anything... now, even without knowing the specifics, I can only admire you more, having a fuller picture of what you aim to accomplish." It feels so odd, talking about him this way while holding the very man in his arms. "I... if you believe I'll be of use, in whatever way you need me, you have my trust. Be certain of that, if nothing else."

All Claude's life, people's opinions of him have been predicated on such flimsy things. Few have ever truly gotten to know him, and he rebuffed the efforts of most of those who tried, after a few bad missteps when he was young that have stuck with him since. He certainly hasn't had many people tell him they admire him for anything, let alone for his somewhat laughably idealistic pipe dream. So if it were anyone but Dimitri, he might have taken these things with a huge grain of salt. As it stands...he believes them, and he trusts them, and it's a little overwhelming to realize. No one's ever made him feel this safe before. Perhaps an odd thing to say about a man with a violent streak who could literally crush his bones to pieces in his bare hands, but Claude's never been one for common sense anyway.

"I am. You don't know how much it means to me to hear you say that. And I can't accomplish it on my own, so knowing you're in my corner...heh. Makes me feel like it's that much more possible."

This feeling, the rush of possibility and hope and trust, bubbles up inside Claude abruptly like a geyser he's freed by opening this final door to the truth, and the only way he can think to express it in this moment is to wrap his arms around Dimitri's neck and kiss him, slowly and deeply, pouring as much of his gratitude into it as he can.

By habit, by instinct, whichever, Dimitri's thoughts are flooded instantly. Downplaying his involvement, his ability to contribute, his usefulness... how Claude, too, will die at his hands, how the man's aspirations will crumble to dust in his presence. Claude's voice rings louder. Dimitri deflates against him, forces that tension to melt out of him muscle by muscle as they kiss. Father, stepmother, Glenn, they're silent as he basks in Claude's presence. "I will not let you down," the prince murmurs when they part.

"I know. Let me help you with your dreams, too. We'll defeat the Empire, and then we'll tear down walls and build bridges, everywhere. Me and you." Claude reaches over with one hand to pull the thick blue cloak he's been lying on over the two of them like a blanket. "I can't believe it's only been a day since I thought you were gone," he murmurs, pulling himself close to Dimitri and nuzzling into the prince's neck. "It feels like a whole different war. Like...a long nightmare I've woken up from."

"I could say the same of you." There's a hint of amusement, as if they don't have their blankets from the previous night a mere arm's length away, not that Dimitri is complaining. "That I hadn't heard your voice in those five years, scolding me or berating me... I thought that had been the height of my luck. I truly did not know how fortune would shine upon me all this time later."

Heard his voice? ...hmm. This morning, when Dimitri said the ghosts of the past demanded tribute and vengeance of him, Claude assumed it was a metaphor for his guilt. It's starting to sound like maybe he was being more literal than that. Claude has never really believed in ghosts, but he knows they do in parts of Faerghus, and in some other cultures as well. He supposes it's possible that he's wrong, and vengeful spirits really do haunt people in the Kingdom, but...he thinks it's more likely that survivor's guilt has been tearing Dimitri apart for years and it's driven him a little mad. The conversation earlier makes more sense in this context. _This_ is why the prince feels as though the person he used to be died during the Tragedy. He's obviously wrong--Claude can see that, even in the single day they've spent together--but the next time they take to the battlefield he might need to have some contingencies in place in case Dimitri loses control like he did at Gronder Field.

"It's not luck. It's fate." How best to say this... "Dimitri, do you believe them, the others, when they berate you for not yet killing Edelgard? Do you believe it truly is your fault?"

 _Fate, hm._ For all that Faerghans tend to speak on it, Dimitri himself isn't so sure such a thing could exist. At the very least, it certainly makes all of this... more difficult to swallow. The prince hums low, and moves now to hide his face to Claude's neck, instead. "... I don't imagine they would say such a thing if there weren't any truth to it."

"No?" Claude brings up a hand to slowly run his fingers through Dimitri's hair. "What did they expect you to do, exactly? Teleport to Enbarr? Sheesh, you'd think the dead would have a little more patience." The teasing in his tone is his usual sort--turning the conversation more casual, not mocking the idea of it. "But if I were a vengeful ghost with nothing to do but force my only living relative to take down my killer, I might say such a thing even if it weren't true. It's making you try harder, isn't it?"

Dimitri really does try to consider Claude's words. His stepmother only scoffs at his insolence, but the prince, as always, manages to find him no less charming than usual. What a love-stricken fool he must be. "It... does no one good to be idle," is his response when he manages to speak again, uncertain as he sounds of himself. "And it isn't as if I can do otherwise, Claude. If I do truly ascend the throne, I cannot while Edelgard continues to exist."

"I know. And we _are_ going to kill her. We don't have a choice. But you deserve to live a little in the meantime. They might be dead, but you aren't." He knows he isn't going to drown out those voices today, or tomorrow, or maybe ever, but Dimitri needs to know at the very least that he's not going to bear this burden alone. To throw himself on Edelgard's axe just for a chance at her head. Claude won't allow it. "And we're not idling. We just yesterday pushed her back, and as soon as we're ready, we're going to corner her and take the head right off the snake. Tell the dead that if it's not fast enough for them, they can come berate _me_ for it instead. They're not the only ones who have lost their lives to Edelgard's machinations, and you're not the only one with an axe to grind with her--if you'll excuse the wordplay."

Once again, Dimitri is briefly at a loss for words. Leave it to Claude to be so sure of himself and so flippant about it, too... a noise escapes his throat and the prince buries his face against Claude's neck. He can't bear to think of them that way—to think of his family as a burden. It's disrespectful of him, cruel of him, to taint the memories of father and stepmother that way, regardless, but... Claude would never think him cruel for it, he thinks. He seems to understand... what it does to him at times, the reminder of what he's lost and what he has yet to do.

He can't find the words. He settles, instead, for squeezing the man in his arms, brushing a half-kiss against his shoulder and hoping he can understand Dimitri's appreciation.

Claude's glad Dimitri can't see his face as his brows draw low and his eyes turn fierce. The nobility of Faerghus does indeed have a lot to answer for. He doesn't know the details, but he knows enough to put the blame where it belongs. For all that he's an anomaly among his father's people and he believes their warlike, insular culture causes more harm than good, the warrior's fire that drove him to train with the bow for hours and hours as a child, injuring his shoulder and bloodying his fingers, all to make sure he would never be too weak to survive the worst the world could throw at him--that fire is his birthright, too. It still smolders like embers in his heart, and every so often it flares to life.

Seeing Dimitri like this has kindled it.

He squeezes back tightly. He breathes in and out, calming himself down-- _heed your own advice, Claude. There's nothing you can do about it now except hold Dimitri close and remind him he's alive as many times as it takes before he believes it._

Dimitri isn't certain how much time passes before he's able to calm himself. He's stuck there in Claude's arms, unwilling and unable to pull himself away; there's a brief moment where the prince hears his heart beat faster, but as always, Claude seems to return quickly to that usual serenity of his, and it serves only to lull Dimitri back into calmness. "Claude?"

”Hm?” Claude doesn’t plan to go anywhere or let go of Dimitri until the prince is ready, so he lets himself relax again. They have time.

"Do you know that I--" Dimitri stops, and very nearly chokes. Oh, he-- this isn't how he imagined this conversation going. He'd always wanted to do something far nicer – Claude deserves something much nicer than here, wrapped up in his cloak, lying on the floor of a tent in the middle of a war–-

"... Claude," Dimitri repeats, softer, after he's taken the moment to goad himself on; the prince meets his gaze with no shortage of apprehension in his eye. "Do you know that I-– love you?"

 _Oh. Oh, Dimitri..._ Claude can’t say he’s surprised to hear this, not after what Dimitri said out at the campfire, but it takes him off-guard anyway, just like it always does when the prince opens his heart so bravely. If it were anyone else, he might think this nothing more than a product of strong emotions and an unexpected reunion, something he’ll regret saying later when he’s got a little distance from the whirlwind that’s been the last 24 hours. But as ever, he has trouble believing Dimitri would say something like this and not truly mean it from the bottom of his heart. How long has he—?

He supposes it doesn’t matter, in the end. One day, five years, it’s all the same for someone who feels so deeply and sincerely, the way Dimitri does. Claude wonders what he would have said if the prince had told him such a thing before the war began. He doubts he’d have been in any sort of emotional place to accept it then; it took years of death and hope and despair and survival to push him into appreciating the present, the moments he has with people he might not see again. To realize that every word he doesn’t say might be a regret later on. Like the nightmares that have plagued him ever since he first heard the news of Dimitri’s execution.

So, although his instinct is to put some distance between himself and that raw, vulnerable confession, Claude smiles instead. “I do now,” he says quietly, and there’s something real and comforting about this. He’s never felt more accepted in his life than here in Dimitri’s arms, draped in the blue of his house, hidden from the bustling world outside in a place he’s made his own despite the grim realities of war.

Dimitri's nervousness still lingers, even after Claude speaks, but he manages a smile—tired and anxious, perhaps, as has been something of a constant these past few years... but happy nonetheless. Claude's acceptance settles in him slowly, gradual in bringing Dimitri down from that minor panic he'd nearly worked himself into at the thought that he might have been rejected. Even if it had been something of a silly concern all along, still...

The prince closes his eye, settles in close to Claude again, and even knowing that in some few hours they'll both be dragged away again by their responsibilities... he's at ease.

Claude can't help wondering what Dimitri was afraid he would say. Can he possibly have thought this would be a surprising revelation to him? He inwardly chuckles at the thought. But as the prince smiles, as he relaxes back into their embrace, Claude wonders whether he ought to say more. And if he did, what it would even be.

Years ago, back at the Academy, Claude at first chalked their dalliances up to a mutual crush, an infatuation born of a few nights of emotional support and unexpected passion. As the moons went on, he could look back at those first nights with more clarity, and realize it went deeper than that; Dimitri's open admiration for him and the hand he extended over and over again whenever Claude felt afraid or out of place--the way he always seemed to _know_ when he needed it, too--brought something bubbling to the surface that Claude was not even aware he'd felt. Admiration of his own for the Prince of Faerghus, a desire to get to know him better, even envy of the childhood friends who were able to spend as much time with him as they liked without raising any eyebrows.

Then, wonder and gratitude, that Dimitri never treated him like an outsider--quite the opposite, in fact. Finding out they had more in common than he'd imagined they might. And of course, the obvious mutual attraction, from the very first moment they spent any time together to the last night they stole to themselves before everything went to hell.

And afterward...he'd missed everyone during those years alone in Derdriu, but he'd missed Dimitri the most. In his many uphill struggles as the new and widely mistrusted Duke Riegan, he needed that kindness, those expressive blue eyes, that voice that could be so soft one moment and a deep, mesmerizing purr the next. He kept waiting for the day when a letter would arrive for him from the Kingdom, but it never did. The cautious letters he sent himself never garnered replies--probably never reached their destination at all, given the Imperial takeover of most of Faerghus. And then the day he got word that Dimitri had been executed for crimes against the royal family, an excuse he never bought for a second, and knowing the Empire was willing to use the very same kind of propaganda that the Kingdom had used to explain away the Tragedy of Duscur...

...Claude thinks he knows what he would say to Dimitri now, if he _were_ to say more. But it feels like such a tall precipice, and once he steps off, there's no going back. He'll fall forever. And in this war, he can't afford to fall like that. Not yet. Not now. Even if there might not be an after--

He strokes Dimitri's hair with a gentle hand for a long moment before he speaks again. "Dima...when this war is over, ask me the question you're not asking. I'll be ready to answer it then. Okay?"

Dimitri nods, without hesitation. Of course he does. "Even if you never answered..." How warm they are, how safe he feels here, truly grounded for the first time in what feels like forever. "Even then, it would be enough." Being near Claude. Enjoying his presence. Having the capability to make him happy, to see his smile—it's an old Faerghan sentiment, the utmost honor of dying in battle for one's beloved, but Claude makes Dimitri wish to _live_ past this foolish war of Edelgard's.

How astounding that is, the prince thinks, as he feels his eye grow heavy. What a feeling it is to wish to be somewhere, anywhere, so long as you exist.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingdom army finally arrives, and the celebration kicks off. Claude and Dimitri find that keeping up appearances in front of their combined armies might be harder than they'd thought.

As Dimitri falls asleep in his arms, Claude finds his thoughts drifting to a time beyond the war, as his eyes settle on the bright royal blue of the cloak enfolding them both. He spends way too long lying there doing something he can only, in retrospect, call daydreaming. The revelation that Dimitri isn't dead hits him all over again, and he can't help imagining what things might have been like if only they could have stuck together after the disaster that was the Battle at Garreg Mach. What life might be like after the war is over, assuming they both survive--no, they _will_ both survive. He'll do anything, stoop to any tactic, to ensure that outcome. Anything. Victory, yes, but never at the cost of his life. Survival is the truest victory. For Dimitri, now, too, even if he doesn't know it yet.

After about an hour of letting his imagination run wild, from relatively realistic scenarios to the kind of epic romance his own parents had, wherein one or both of them simply abandon their thrones and run off together where the expectations of royal duty can't find them--eventually, Claude comes back down to the earth and carefully extracts himself from Dimitri's arms without waking him. The prince could probably use about a week of uninterrupted sleep, honestly, but a few more hours will have to do. Claude putters around his tent for a few minutes, freshening up and making himself presentable. Then, on a stray piece of parchment, he writes a note: _'Dima - if you wake up before your army arrives, meet me in the war room (tent near the cooking fire, huge Alliance flag, you can't miss it). Prepare to deal with Lorenz. I don't have anything blue to wear right now, maybe you can fix that? ;) Sleep well, Your Princeliness. -C'_

The next few hours are a blur of reviewing the battle at Gronder and answering endless questions--about the prince of Faerghus and their new Kingdom allies, about the wisdom of trying to take Fort Merceus even with their joined forces, about what schemes Claude has in mind to get into an impenetrable fortress. Reviewing troop movements and how many Daphnel soldiers they can safely pull from Myrddin without risking their position there. Arguing with his commanders over what each of them thinks the Empire's next move will be. On and on...until a runner comes to announce that an army flying the colors of Faerghus approaches from the northeast, and that Ser Ingrid Galatea has come in advance on her pegasus to greet His Highness and the Duke. If Dimitri doesn't join them soon, he'll have to go wake him...

* * *

Even if it means he doesn't dream at all, there aren't the usual nightmares plaguing him during this impromptu nap, so Dimitri figures he has little to complain about save the lack of Claude's presence once he awakens. He very nearly panics for a moment before he remembers, the night prior trickling back to him...

Used as he is to startling himself awake with little time to prepare otherwise, he's quick to rise and get about it, after lingering a moment on the note that Claude has left for him. He doesn't know how long he'll have, and so the prince makes do with the baths they'd taken prior, manages to comb and wrangle his hair back into some presentable half-ponytail and reseats his patch over his eye.

It isn't too much of a hassle to find his armor, previously left for cleaning after Claude dragged him back from Gronder--appearing before his army in anything less would be... horribly improper, to say the least. He thanks the attendant who retrieves his set and gets to work dolling himself up, then, settling back into the comfortable skin that is his light cavalry wear and making sure that he leaves Claude's tent in no more a mess than they'd made it. When he sweeps his cape back into his arms, brushing it off carefully and shaking it out, it's far more reverently than he would've thought to treat the garment a mere day earlier.

Huge Alliance flag, near the cooking fire. Right. He hardly manages to take his first step before the camp is alight with activity, though, and Dimitri needn't strain himself to catch wind of what's inspired this sudden flurry: the Kingdom army will be arriving any moment, now. He manages to outpace them... well enough. First things first, his gracious host--he makes for the war room with renewed vigor.

Claude's in the middle of an argument over how far to integrate the Kingdom troops with their own and how to divide up the battalions among the available commanders when Dimitri arrives, fully armored and mantled now, and looking every inch the fierce Faerghan warrior-prince who took the field at Gronder. He interrupts Lorenz mid-sentence to say, "Lorenz, we'll resume this when we have the Kingdom commanders here to participate. Now that His Highness is here, we'll go out to meet Ingrid. If you'll excuse me--" He gives the assembled commanders a nod and moves to join Dimitri at the tent's entrance, ignoring Lorenz's annoyed spluttering.

Dimitri hopes he isn't interrupting. Or, well, he _knows_ he's interrupting—he can hear a not-quite-yelling match once he's right upon the tent and parting its flap reveals the culprits currently bent over the war table. He does, though, manage to shoot Lorenz something akin to an apology in his glance before he and Claude take their leave. Once they're outside and heading toward the stables where, Claude knows, his people would have had Ingrid land her pegasus, he gives Dimitri a smile; his tone is cordial and carefully not too familiar, but his eyes are warm. "I trust you slept well, Your Highness? You've joined us just in time."

It's going to be a challenge for Dimitri, pretending that nothing has changed (knowing he loves and is in love with this man beside him, that they stand so close despite the literal continent that will come to separate them)--"As always, Duke Riegan, the Alliance's hospitality knows no bounds. I would feel just as at home here as I would in my own camp." His eye sparkles, not from the pretty words they exchange but the _knowing_ behind them. He's never liked secrets as much as he does in this moment. "I did indeed catch word that my army is arriving, in time to prepare to receive them... and once I've ascertained the state of my own forces, all will be well."

Claude laughs inwardly at how much they're saying to each other without saying much at all. If he can't wear Dimitri's cloak in front of the army anymore, this is the next best thing. "The honor of your presence here, Prince Dimitri, is ours." He gives Dimitri a little bow, which to anyone else would look like mere proper etiquette, but up close the prince can tell it's a bit exaggerated and he's winking when he comes up from it. "I myself am eager to see your people settled and comfortable here."

 _Always with the teasing_ –- Dimitri's will in the presence of others is much easier to uphold than it is in private, though, after he's already lowered his walls for Claude and Claude alone. A slim brow raises over the patch though the gesture is subtle, gone the next moment. "As am I." His voice dips lower, not entirely... intentional in the affect it likely inspires, as it's mostly for privacy. "As things are, and will be, once our forces have become more or less combined, they will be comrades in arms. I would hope they'll come to enjoy and trust in one another, regardless of whatever boundaries may have been drawn between them before."

Claude manages to keep his composure remarkably well for the little shiver that goes through him as Dimitri lowers his voice. Is that ever _not_ going to happen? ...he hopes not. He could listen to the prince speak in that maddening tone all day...

He greets Ingrid warmly--they never knew each other well at the Academy, but he always had respect for her determination to chase her dreams--and assures her that her pegasus is in the best of hands. He asks if the beast has a name and if she would mind if he visited with it while she confers with Dimitri. He's tempted to ask if he can take it for a short ride, actually, but he reins himself in-- _no pun intended_. Experience on a wyvern and on a horse doesn't necessarily translate to knowing what he's doing on a pegasus, and besides, it might seem like a strange request coming from the head of the Alliance while they're supposed to be planning a war. Ah well. Some other time.

For Dimitri, greeting Ingrid feels as if a blur, almost. The prince who greets her feels so far from Gronder, as if it's been weeks since he last saw her: perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that Claude has such an affect on him. They walk a loop around the Alliance's stables as they talk. She has largely positive news for him regarding the Kingdom army, sharing with him a report of minimal losses and decent morale, though the news that Umbra is not yet with them either does manages to dampen his spirits, a little. Still, before the long march continues they'll have these few days of celebration, and of respite.

Claude spends this time patting Ingrid's pegasus and feeding it treats while chatting with the stablemaster--business first, taking stock of how many horses they'd lost to the fire, whether any wyverns were injured, and so on, transitioning into a lively discussion about pegasus knights. When Dimitri returns, he's only able to smile once more. "The Holy Legion is in good spirits, my friend—I suppose that our celebrations will be well received."

Claude returns that smile with one final pat to the majestic flying creature's nose. "Glad to hear it! Let's gather the commanders in the war room so we can make our announcement. We can't risk word getting out before we have a chance to do it with all due pomp and circumstance, right, Your Highness?" It's addressed to Dimitri, but he directs his wink to Ingrid.

"Of course." Even Dimitri isn't certain what kind of 'pomp' to anticipate from Claude here, but he supposes this is but one of many joys of knowing him. "Felix will most likely be leading the army from this point... it would be wise for us to meet him as quickly as possible. He ought to understand most of the implications from the missives I've had sent, but..." Dimitri feels he needn't explain further. After Gronder, and being forced to march here to meet with the Alliance a mere day after the fact, he doubts his advisor will be very happy to see him. "For now, Ingrid, go find yourself some rest. A ways into the camp, you'll spot a large bonfire—you're no doubt hungry from your journey." From the way her eyes light up at the mention, he can't help but think she appreciates it. His attention drifts back to Claude with a chuckle. "Right. The war room."

They leave a message to have Felix and the other Kingdom commanders join them when they arrive and head back to the war room, where Claude reassembles the Alliance commanders and they wait for the others. It's a little difficult for Claude to focus on petty tactical disagreements and deflecting prodding questions with Dimitri right here beside him; hard not to think that any time spent idle in his presence should be time he's kissing the prince...

Ingrid arrives first, fresh from eating, and when the others file in, Claude can't help a wave of nostalgia as he greets them one by one with a smile--even Felix, who replies with little more than an annoyed grunt, perhaps rightly guessing that all of this uprooting their camp and moving it was Claude's fault. Not that he actually feels bad about it. The tent soon resembles something of a Blue Lions/Golden Deer class reunion, as he calls for their collective attention--and makes a speech.

"Please welcome our friends from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus as our guests and allies. As you all know, the battle at Gronder Field yesterday ended in defeat for the Empire, whose troops were forced to retreat and who sustained heavy casualties in that retreat. Fortunately, their defeat was a victory for both of us, Alliance and Kingdom alike. And, speaking for the Alliance, I count it as a victory twice over, as it brought us the glad tidings that Prince Dimitri was not, in fact, executed after all, and stands before us alive and well." He can't help the smile that spreads across his face as he says it.

"After much deliberation with the prince," _oh, is that what we're calling it now?_ "we have reached a decision that, we are certain, will bring the Empire's downfall and end this war decisively." He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at Dimitri and then back at the room. "From this point forward, His Highness and I will be assuming joint command of the Leicester and Kingdom forces, united as one army. We will march together on Fort Merceus and, from there, the Imperial capital. And, as our Faerghan friends have made such an effort to join our two camps--one we deeply appreciate--we will show them our thanks by hosting a celebration. Nothing major--" He adds this hastily, forestalling complaints about funds and supplies-- "But we'll be taking a well-earned respite for a day or two and inviting the Kingdom soldiers into our camp to share meals and camaraderie."

He turns to Dimitri, continuing to plow on before the assembled nobles can complain or squabble about it. "Is there anything you wish to add, Your Highness?" Not just a courtesy, but also a calculated strategy--the Alliance nobles wouldn't hesitate to tear apart his own words, but they'll think twice before doing it to the crown prince of Faerghus.

It really is something, hearing Claude go on. He's always been one for this sort of thing and, given all that they've been through, Dimitri will admit he feels silly, being... envious of him, in that way. More than anything, though, his attitude and his confidence are infectious. For a moment, Dimitri feels as if he's one of Claude's soldiers, too, merely an underling marching along to his drum. A little horrifically, he thinks he might not have minded that, in a different life.

"There is." He manages to break from his thoughts soon enough to realize that he's being called upon. His gaze casts out, then, to the group that fills the tent before them. "The Empire, and Edelgard's ambitions, pose a threat to every one of us. Even given the history between our countries, the Empire cannot be stopped so long as we remain divided." He believes this, he always has; though with Claude by his side, for perhaps the first time in his life Dimitri feels at ease to admit it aloud. There's strength there, pride, in the set of his shoulders once his arms fold behind his back. "Even if only for now, the people stood beside you will become your comrades, your friends. We cannot win this war without one another." His eye, without even an attempt to disguise it, has moved to Claude, now. "I do hope that each one of you will take this knowledge to heart."

Claude manages to keep his smile pleasant and professional, even when Dimitri glances at him while saying... _that_. And even while he watches the prince stand tall and proud like the lion his banner carries, thinking what it will be like one day when Dimitri gets to go from outcast prince leading an army through a bloody war to beloved king bringing peace and prosperity to his people. Claude wants to help make that happen. Dimitri deserves it. Plus, it'll make his own dream that much easier to achieve, having an ally...or whatever they might be to each other by then...ruling at least a third of Fodlan.

"Well said, Your Highness." He can see some of the nobles opening their mouths already, so he turns immediately to Leonie and Raphael, asking them to have the men start the cooking fires up in earnest and bring out some of the stores of ale, and then asks Hilda and Lorenz to go with Felix and Ingrid to welcome the Kingdom troops into the camp. There will be plenty of logistics to discuss and numbers to crunch and strategy meetings to hold, but for now he insists that the Faerghans have just marched for several hours to get here and deserve a nice hot meal before all that business begins.

Dimitri can't complain with Claude's optimism, though he does, truly, try to keep his expression calm and even; it wouldn't do to get on the bad side of the Alliance nobles because he couldn't keep a straight face. Dimitri falls into step behind his companions as they exit the tent, though not before politely requesting Claude's company (he feels it a good idea to rescue the poor man from his own compatriots before they've talked his ears off...). He steps off to the side to make way and await Claude's exit, blood thrumming in some odd form of excitement. It feels as if it's been too long since he last properly addressed an audience, even his own army...

Claude's only too glad to accept Dimitri's obvious rescue, resisting the urge to give the Alliance nobles a cheeky wave on his way out. As they make their way back to the center of the camp, word begins to spread. With the Kingdom soldiers trickling into their camp and someone having struck up a lively tune on a fiddle as the food and ale begin circulating, it's really starting to feel like a celebration; and if it's humbler than what Claude is used to, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. Any celebration puts smiles on people's faces, no matter how small. That includes his own, especially when he gets to sit down and eat, and drink, and forget about the war for a little while.

Dimitri's glad for the chance to celebrate, for the opportunity for his people to relax... even if the prince himself isn't yet sure what to think about such a celebration. Those in his corner of the Kingdom have seen fit to keep him out of the public eye when possible, and Dimitri can't blame them for it, not with the state he is... or _was_ nearly perpetually in. How long has it been since he's last been surrounded by so many people and wasn't fighting for his life? Since there was no immediate threat to accompany a crowd of bodies pushing and shoving against him? He's content to stay out of it, as content as he can manage to be when he feels a headache sprouting in his head and anxiety creeping up his throat like bile.

The ale isn't that strong, so it's not as though Claude's in any danger of becoming inebriated; but a few of them is enough for a light, pleasant buzz, and the fiddler has been joined by someone with a hand drum and someone else with a tin whistle, and many throughout the camp have gotten up to dance. It's such a heartening thing to see. And Claude has always enjoyed dancing--at least, when he's not expected to learn some highly specific Fodlani noble dance that's both boring and complicated--and it's not so strange for two army commanders to celebrate together...right? He finds Dimitri and nudges him with an elbow. "Hey, Your Princeliness," he murmurs quietly, for Dimitri's ears only. "Care to dance?"

Dimitri's mid-bite, a small bite though it is. He blinks at the duke for a moment in dumbfounded silence. "Dance?" The last time he danced was-- "Ah, I'm, really no good for dancing..."

Claude tries not to laugh at that frozen look on the prince's face, but he doesn't quite fully succeed. "It's not about being good for it, it's about fun. I know noble traditions love to suck all the fun out of dancing, but this is different. You just do whatever comes naturally." He holds out a hand, with a look that says, _come onnnnn_...

"Perhaps anything coming naturally to me is the problem," comes the prince's croak of a response—the longer that Claude stands there, though, looking at him so beseechingly, hand outstretched... Dimitri knows that he could never turn Claude down, though this is perhaps the first time he's come to resent such a fact. Hesitant though he is, he does, eventually... lift a tentative hand, armored though it is, and place it atop the duke's.

Claude smiles and tugs Dimitri up from where he was sitting. "Then just follow my lead." And lead he does--not in the formal, stuffy way courtly Fodlani dances dictate, but just by taking Dimitri's other hand too and guiding him through the motions of a simple, freestyle dance that requires little learning and absolutely no bowing. Gods, he hasn't had the excuse to do this in a long time...and never before with Dimitri. There's no way he can pass up this opportunity, and his warm, excited grin tells the prince exactly how much he's enjoying this.

Grace on the battlefield does not quite translate to grace on the dance floor, though to his credit the Prince of Faerghus manages not to trip over his feet (or anyone else's). His grip on Claude's hands is probably too tight and he thinks, if anyone is even bothering to watch him, he must look inane, but Claude-- As their dance drags Dimitri through the rhythm their impromptu band weaves, Claude looks at him, smiles at him, with such clear warmth and amusement and Dimitri is, as always, left breathless in his wake.

As the song winds to a close, Claude finds himself resisting the absurd urge to end the dance by pulling Dimitri close and kissing him. Instead, he lets go with one hand so he can end it with a flourish of his cape, and then--still not yet letting go of the other hand--he gives the prince a bow without breaking eye contact, his cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion, catching his breath, smiling broadly. "Thank you for the dance, Your Highness."

"Must you make fun of me?" It's a murmur between only the two of them, accompanied by a duck of the head, a flush of the cheeks; Dimitri's warm all over and it isn't the exertion alone, though as embarrassed as he is, it isn't because he's upset with Claude, it's... He can't look at Claude. If he does, Dimitri isn't certain what he might do.

 _Make fun of him?_ Claude's smile fades into a half-surprised, half-concerned look, as he does let go now, and as Dimitri refuses to make eye contact. "What? I wasn't--"

"Air," Dimitri says suddenly, absently. "I-- ought to get air."

 _We're already outside, Dimitri..._ "Of course." Claude smiles again, but this time it's his usual pleasant, meaningless smile that most people take at face value. "Well, don't let me keep you." He folds his hands behind his back, polite.

As much as Dimitri anticipates it, for a moment he isn't certain what to do, once Claude has pulled himself away. But he manages to nod, finds Dedue in the crowd – the man knew to give him and Claude space and seems to know now, too, that Dimitri will be needing more for... just some time longer – and manages to take his leave of the celebration with no fanfare to follow him. Once he's found his distance, and managed to push past the voice of his stepmother's scoffing... the prince attempts to discern just what could have come over him to prompt him to do such a thing. Claude was enjoying himself, Dimitri was enjoying Claude enjoying himself. And then something-- he doesn't even recognize what it could have possibly been but something, some thought, drifted to him in the aftermath of their dance...

Claude only watches Dimitri walk off through the crowd for a moment, before he turns his attention back to everyone else whose morale he's now become solely responsible for, at least for the time being. He expertly deflects questions about where His Highness went off to so suddenly, and then accepts an invitation to dance from Hilda, whose shrewd eye has been watching all this with much more of an understanding of what just happened than anyone else. He puts it out of his mind long enough to have a good time with her, but as soon as she starts pestering him with 'you know, Claude, don't take this the wrong way, but--' he finds an excuse to suddenly have something important to do in preparation for their next march. Hilda isn't fooled for a moment, but she lets it slide-- 'this time,' says her Look-- and he makes his way back to the war room by himself to distract himself from the crowd's many prying eyes with work.

He's always been cursed to be good at multitasking, though, and even while he busies himself with maps and numbers, part of his mind drifts to that question Dimitri asked him. _'Must you make fun of me?'_ Is that what the prince thought he was doing? Why would he think so, after all they've said and done since yesterday? He recalls that back at the Academy, he often had to tell Dimitri outright that he was teasing or joking, after the other boy took something he said in jest way too seriously. But that seems to be the opposite of what happened here, doesn't it? Maybe it was...something else, something worse. Or who knows, maybe Dimitri just had a sudden urge to go pleasure himself. At this rate, Claude's going to think himself in circles, and that never ends well. He shoves it all onto the back burner and focuses once again on the war.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Claude both find things to apologize for, and make plans both for their next battle and their next night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a transition scene, which is why it's shorter than most. But they do some necessary communicating, here.

There are several times throughout the evening that Dimitri debates with himself, lets his mind wander to the celebration taking place halfway across the camp. He's been wandering for who knows how long, now, refusing to seek refuge in Claude's tent lest the man himself wish for that sort of privacy and... well. He doesn't quite have anywhere else to go. The number of times he's thought about returning, though, specifically to find Claude, he can't say. After having the time to mull over his actions, to consider what came over him... as embarrassed as he is, he feels more than anything the need to speak to the man. To tell him.

And he's lucky, maybe, that he manages to run into Hilda once he's crawled his way back to the celebration on its last legs. He doesn't quite have to beg, to get her to tell him where Claude has gotten off to, though... he certainly feels a mite less safe here in the Alliance camp, with the look she gave him beforehand. Now, however, it's with a great deal of trepidation that he stands outside of the war room, looking more the part of a timid cub than the 'king of lions' his soldiers have affectionately dubbed him. He finds the courage along the line, somewhere, to part the flap just slightly, to silently peer inside...

Once Claude puts his mind to something, it can be easy for him to lose track of time. And inside a windowless tent, wrapped up in his strategies and schemes, he doesn't even notice when the sun goes down. So when he senses that he's being watched and his head snaps up abruptly to meet the single blue eye peeking in at him, he isn't really sure exactly how much time has passed. He smiles. It's his usual fare, but tinged with a faint bit of relief that Dimitri didn't just...go back to the Kingdom camp or something. "Hey, Your Princeliness."

Dimitri's guilt only seems to worsen at such a greeting. Still, however, he... is aware that he cannot leave this be. Slowly, Dimitri enters the tent, glances around briefly as if to make certain, merely to double check that they are alone, here, before he moves to join Claude at the table. Claude watches, bemused, as Dimitri slowly slinks into the tent like he thinks he's not supposed to be here or something.

"I'm sorry," the prince blurts. "I had a-- I realized... something earlier that I did not. Handle well." And what a trivial thing it was, shameful in hindsight to have had such a reaction to something he'd already known, in part. "It was nothing that you did. I simply... ah."

As the prince explains...sort of...Claude's brows draw lower with concern, and he comes closer to look up into Dimitri's eye. "What is it, what did you realize?"

"..." Well. He's already bothered to make his way here. "I. Had assumed that we would need to keep this– to keep us a secret. It hadn't fully hit me until then, and then... when we were dancing..." Dimitri's hands, still gauntleted, clench atop the table. "I truly am sorry, I only-– it will be hard enough for me, to hide something that is so important to me. I have never possessed that sort of restraint. But the last thing I want to do is to compromise your position more than it... already will be, soon, I suppose."

 _Oh._ Claude should have known--of course Dimitri would have trouble keeping a secret like this. It's one of the things that always drew him to the prince, the way he's so open with his feelings. Even when it's inconvenient for Claude, personally. "...ah. And I made it that much harder. I'm the one who should apologize, Dima. I'm used to keeping secrets; it was insensitive of me to indulge myself and expect you to play along." He rests a hand on top of one of Dimitri's clenched gauntlets. "As I'm sure you remember, I have a tendency to have a little too much fun when I'm..." _Happy? Letting his guard down too much? Too comfortable?_ "...excited." His tone softens. "I like seeing you smile."

"As do I, with you." Still conscious of the camp bustling outside of their place here, Dimitri restrains himself from embracing Claude and manages, instead, with a hand atop his, a gentle squeeze. He struggles to find the words for his next thought, briefly. "Today has been... something, for me. It's been so long since I last felt like anything resembling a prince." With the conversations they've had, and what Claude has seen of him on the battlefield... perhaps he already knows a portion of what he means. "I think I am still adjusting to feeling human again."

Something akin to pride mixed with awe rises in Claude's chest to realize just how much the last 24 hours changed things for Dimitri. He’d assumed that the prince’s transformation on the battlefield was solely that—after all, he never displayed that kind of rage as a student, at least that Claude saw—but he’s starting to understand that it persists beyond combat too, to at least some extent. “And here I am, rushing you again. Forgive me. It’s just...I thought you were dead for so long. I’ve seen so many others die during this war. I suppose I’ve started to feel as though any moment I don’t spend with you is a moment we won’t get back, if something should happen.”

"It's alright. I could never blame you for such a thing." Not when Dimitri, too, has been stuck in a similar sort of rush for the past day or so. Claude's hand seems smaller in his with these gauntlets on; Dimitri is so careful in lifting one to press his lips against the knuckles. "But... here... if you meant what you said, then we'll be working so that we will have time, in the future. So that we can have peace again."

"I meant it." Claude wants to pull Dimitri close, but--not here. Instead, he settles for reaching up to brush a few stray strands of hair out of the prince's face. "Let's win this war, Dima. I'll explain what I've got in mind for Fort Merceus, if you promise not to tell. ;)"

"Who would I tell?" It's asked with a hint of amusement, though it isn't as if Claude could know that even Dedue has not known how to act around, or what to do with, Dimitri, these days. "Even so, if I am to aid you in taking it, I figure that I ought to know sooner rather than later..."

"Sometimes the best schemes are the ones that surprise even your partners in crime. But for you, I'll make an exception." Claude grins, then turns to the war table, shuffling papers and maps around. "Fort Merceus, as you know, is the Empire's most impenetrable stronghold. It's also right smack in the middle of the only viable route between us and Enbarr. Even with both of our armies together and more reinforcements from the Alliance, we couldn't possibly take it the conventional way without embroiling ourselves in a siege that would last long enough to grant them victory through attrition, if nothing else. But..."

He taps the open pages of an old tome. "Once inside the walls, there would be little holding us back. It was never meant to be breached, so they didn't build it to withstand an assault from within. Which means, all we have to do is get them to open the gate. As it happens, I know a few people--including people in your army, if they're inclined to help--who are quite talented at various forms of craftsmanship and tailoring. So..."

He shuffles what looks like a disorganized mess around again, apparently knowing where everything is despite the disorder, and brings a map forward. "We send word that Imperial reinforcements are on the way. Then we pull just enough of the Daphnel forces away from the Great Bridge to fake a skirmish with a small group of our troops disguised as those reinforcements, who 'retreat' to the fortress. Once we're inside, I'll have...let's just say, some special reinforcements of our own, waiting for us at the north entrance. We fight our way through, take down their commanders, and Fort Merceus is ours."

Dimitri listens closely, does what he can to commit it all to memory; Claude will have enough on his mind without needing to keep track of him, too, out on the field. He's surprised somehow by the plan he's put together, the complexity... well, he has faith in Claude. If he thinks it could work, then so does the prince. "It feels... so near." His hand squeezes lightly around Claude's. "The end of this Goddess-forsaken war..."

Claude squeezes back, even knowing the gauntlet might mean Dimitri can't even tell he's doing it. "It's in sight, my friend. Finally. And to be honest, without you and the Kingdom army I wasn't entirely certain this plan was going to work. Whether we could make enough uniforms in time, whether we'd have enough strength in a force small enough for what we need, whether we would really be able to spare enough of Judith's men. But between us, I'm confident we have everything we need and then some." He tears his eyes away from the books and maps to look up into Dimitri's eye again. "And once we get to Enbarr, I'll turn command over to you for the final push. We'll be unstoppable. Edelgard will never know what hit her. ...heh, I can't help but feel that it must have been fate that brought us together at Gronder Field."

 _Edelgard._ There's that odd feeling, the thrumming in Dimitri's veins, in his mind... _Edelgard is not here. She's in the Empire a world away, months away, still that much unobtainable as of yet._ He nods. Slow, hesitant. "We can finally... finally..." _Things can finally end._ "I... will await that day, eagerly."

"Try not to look _so_ forward to it that you forget to live in the present, though, got it?" Claude keeps it light, almost but not quite joking, but he certainly doesn't intend to watch Dimitri go back to obsessing single-mindedly over Edelgard for the next month or two. "And to that end, I think we both might have had enough celebration for one day, and for once I think I've done enough work as well. What do you have planned for the rest of the evening?" He tries not to smirk while he says it. He thinks he mostly succeeds.

The present... yes. It would be dreadful, here and now, without Claude by his side. Dimitri nods his acceptance and lets his eye fall once more to the map spread before him, traces the lines that chart their path to Merceus and then, eventually, to Enbarr... "Every warrior needs rest, after a battle. If I'm to be honest... I can't be certain my wounds have all healed, yet." A wry smile, even if it's mildly true that his injuries have, largely, gone unattended. Dimitri isn't bothered by such minor pains anymore, though. "I imagine I'll be retiring soon, myself, though I don't know that I have the energy to pitch my tent properly..."

 _Did he...?_ Claude studies Dimitri's face for half a second and quickly comes to the conclusion that no, he doesn't realize what he just said. He doesn't suppress the smirk this time. "Oh, is that so? Well, you're absolutely right, Your Princeliness--you need rest, and pitching a tent is not restful in the least. I suppose I'll just have to extend my hospitality once again. After all, you _did_ say you had no intention of using yours when mine is right there. And so cozy, besides." He keeps his voice low, to ensure no one will hear this but Dimitri himself.

"I-- suppose I did." Dimitri was under the impression they were attempting to keep the blatant flirting to a minimum here in such a public space...he stands before he can think to do otherwise, though still extends a hand to Claude. "I must speak with my people first, but I'll join you shortly."

Claude takes the offered hand and stands as well. "Then I'll take the opportunity to do the same, and meet you there. If you see her, would you ask Mercedes if she would be amenable to lending us her supplies and expertise for this little gambit of mine? The more skilled hands we have working on it, the sooner we can march."

"Of course." Dimitri thinks he might be of some help as well, though it's been long, too long since he's last held a needle. "I will." And then, softer, "I will meet you back there, then."

And to his credit, Dimitri does so with quite an impressive haste, managing to seek out Mercedes and Annette and enlist their help, with as brief a description as he can manage. His relief is palpable once they agree, even if he's astounded their faith in him persists even now... Then he finds Dedue and Felix, informs them of the 'arrangements' he and Claude have made; even with having to bear Dedue's knowing look and Felix's scowl, as his right and left hands, well... they can't quite afford not to know where he lays his head down at night, here.

For Claude's part, he confers with Hilda on both matters. She'll be in charge of coordinating the efforts of the tailors and blacksmiths, and she's the only one other than Dimitri who knows the entire plan--well. _Enough_ of the entire plan. No one but Claude himself knows about Nader yet. Though they all will soon enough. When he mentions that he'll have a guest in his tent for the night once again, she asks whether they're going to have A Conversation about this, and he tells her they absolutely, definitely will, when he's not soooooo tired. Yaaawwwwn. She sees right through this, as always, but rolls her eyes and tells him to get going, then, before his 'guest' gets impatient and whips out his lance...and her expression seems to imply that it's at least as much a serious warning as it is tasteless innuendo. Maybe more.

He gives her a wink and bids her good night, amazed at how shockingly different the war feels now than it did two days ago. He was dreading every second of its remainder, then. Now...he still hates it, and he still wants it over sooner rather than later, for the sake of Fodlan's people and for those who will lose their lives for the fight. But there's a selfish little voice in the back of his mind now that doesn't _ever_ want the war to end. Because the end of the war means the end of his time with Dimitri. And he's not sure what he's going to do when that time comes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff in Claude's tent than you can shake a stick at. Until Claude decides it's time for something else.

Dimitri takes the opportunity the moment he reaches Claude's tent to enter when he's certain there's no one paying any particular attention to him. He does what he can to get comfortable, able now to change into his own clothing... clothing he hasn't worn since before this war started. It's with no small amount of shame, as he changes from his armor, that Dimitri realizes this will be the first day in five years he's worn something of his that wasn't this blood-soaked, battle-worn set of equipment...

By the time Claude's managed to make his way back, Dimitri is sat at the low table and already brewing them some tea... some chamomile Dedue managed to procure. Claude steps inside and smiles to see that Dimitri's beaten him there. "Did everything go as planned?"

Dimitri's smile, and his eye, are soft once the flap of the tent closes behind Claude. "I-- apologize. I did have to let Dedue and Felix know where I would be staying... outside of that, however, yes."

As Claude comes farther inside and sees this tableau laid out before him...Dimitri, dressed not in his armor or princely mantle but simply, as though they were greeting each other not in a tent in the middle of a war camp but in a cozy bedroom in a manor somewhere; brewing tea that smells delicious, smiling like that...waiting for him. It's...he has to pause just to take it in for a moment. It's an unfamiliar feeling.

Once he gets over his initial reaction, he comes over to join Dimitri at the table, sitting close to the prince and pulling off his gloves only to warm his hands over the tea fire. "I let Hilda know, too. To make sure no one intrudes." His smile becomes sly for a moment, but then it warms. "Tea _and_ a handsome prince waiting for me? You spoil me, Dima. ;)"

Dimitri ducks away at his compliment (he doesn't think he'll ever be able to face Claude when he says something like that, and so earnestly, too), though he's quick to remember the tea he's preparing and moves to pour out their cups. "Mm, well, I figured that... you've also had something of a long day, and that it would be nice for you to have something to come back to." He hasn't made mention of it yet, but he took the liberty of claiming a few of his own belongings that would've gone in his own tent... namely the rug he's perched on, thick, luxurious fur made perfectly for keeping in warmth. And some extra cushions, as well. The prince sighs deeply. "I... could get used to this."

 _Something to come back to._ Claude's really never thought about any such thing. Sure, there have been times when Hilda was waiting for him here, to talk or fool around after a long day of marching or a complicated political meeting, but...it was never like this. Like something out of a storybook. He could almost believe he'd walked into a dream, except that no dream of his would involve the weather being this chilly... "You took the words right out of my mouth. ...wait, where did this rug come from?" He reaches down to touch it with a hand, running his fingers through the fur. "Whoa...I didn't know a rug could _be_ this soft. Maybe I really am dreaming."

"One of several furnishings meant for my own tent, though... for the duration of this war, I had refused to use them." Dimitri's embarrassed to admit it, but more than anything, only ever the truth for Claude. "For whatever reason, Dedue continued to have all of this lugged around, I suppose in case I ever changed my mind and decided to furnish my tent more comfortably. I figured... I ought to contribute something if I'm to intrude upon your space for some time more."

 _Refused to use them. As though, perhaps, he thought he didn't deserve them, or shouldn't have nice things until his revenge was complete. Dimitri..._ "Dedue is a good friend. But Dimitri, you're not intruding. I invited you here, remember?"

"W-well. Yes, but you know what I mean."

 _Yes, I know what you mean, Dima, but words matter._ Claude picks up his teacup and just holds it in his hands for a moment, letting its heat warm him. "This smells amazing. Thanks for making it."

Dimitri watches Claude take his cup, smiles, and briefly moves to his knees, leaning behind him closer to the wall of the tent. "Before you get settled, you ought to get out of those clothes first. And, if you are cold afterward..." Once he's sat back at the table, he holds in his arms a couple of what ought to be familiar bundles in his arms.

Claude takes a sip of tea and watches curiously as the prince reach over to fetch...something? When he sees what it is, his face lights up. "I can't believe you still have those!" He puts down the teacup so he can reach out and touch one of the fluffy blankets. "I may not be a big fan of the cold, but the things you produce in Faerghus to deal with it are absolutely worth it." He wastes no more time before taking Dimitri's suggestion, pulling off his boots and then moving to open a large wooden chest in the corner of the tent and dig out clean, more casual clothes. He pulls off his heavy jacket and then changes quickly, a skill he's refined to an art over the last five Fodlan winters. When he comes back to sit on the ridiculously warm rug beside the prince, he sighs with contentment.

"Of course." It was difficult work, keeping them intact... something Dimitri largely has Mercedes to thank for. He waits until Claude has returned to sit before he moves, brandishing one of the blankets and settling it upon Claude's shoulders.

"I was counting you among those things produced in Faerghus, you know," Claude teases.

Dimitri almost doesn't know how to take that half-compliment. "Hardly," he murmurs, and he settles down at the man's side, head coming to rest on his shoulder. "I'm merely glad they could be of use... the blankets."

Claude chuckles, resting his own head against Dimitri's soft, fluffy hair and picking his teacup back up again with one hand while he fishes among the blankets for Dimitri's hand with the other. "This brings back memories, doesn't it?" softly, after a moment of quietly sipping his tea and basking in all the warmth here--the rug, the blanket, the tea, but most of all, the prince himself. "I wish I'd had more opportunities to practice ice skating so I could impress you, heh."

"Mm, but... you were already so impressive in your own right. I believe I said as much back then."

"You _did_ say that. You always did work wonders for my ego. ;)" Claude's only kidding, of course, and would never have accused Dimitri of empty flattery; it's just not in his nature.

"Not ego. I don't believe I've ever been frivolous in the compliments I've given you—I wouldn't have said it had I not meant it." It's a statement punctuated with an affectionate nuzzle against Claude's shoulder, and a squeeze from the arm that has looped itself around his waist.

"I know you wouldn't. You never say anything you don't mean. It's one of the reasons you fascinate me."

"You..." Dimitri hesitates, and then... he doesn't mind this softness, for Claude. "Even then, you certainly knew how to charm a man..."

"I was hardly the only charmer between the two of us. I seem to remember you charming me right into kissing you on the ice and promptly falling over."

"I can't claim to have been intentional in any charm I may or may not have really had. You know better than most that I... am inelegant."

Claude finishes off his tea and puts down the cup, so he can climb into Dimitri's lap. "Don't you know that the fact that you're not being charming on purpose just makes you _more_ charming?"

 _Oh. Oh._ Dimitri freezes up, wide-eyed and silent in a moment of processing before ever so carefully resting his hands on Claude's waist. "I. Mm. Did not know that." While he doesn't seem to know how to comprehend having this man in his lap, he... isn't complaining. At all. Not one bit. "If anything, I imagined it would become quite tiresome."

It's amazing, Claude thinks, that after everything they've done together, he can still find ways to get Dimitri to make that face. He hopes that never changes. "Well, you imagined wrong. At least, as far as I'm concerned. Although, it does occasionally make you a bit of a tease." He grasps the edges of the blanket around his shoulders and pulls it around both of them instead, cocooning them together in its soft fluff. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

Paired with the low flickering of the candle here, this warmth, Claude's proximity... Dimitri is almost beginning to feel tired all over again. His arms tighten around the other man's waist as he falls back, hitting the ground with a muffled sound thanks in no small part to the plush fur beneath him. "Mm... I don't mean to tease."

Claude's careful not to land too hard on top of Dimitri as they fall, and once the prince is on his back, Claude shifts to spread both hands out over Dimitri's broad chest and lean down to kiss him gently. "I know. That's what makes it such effective teasing." He grins and steals another kiss.

"I-- hm." Dimitri can't quite argue with that, now can he. He chases after Claude's kiss, snakes his hands underneath his shirt to marvel at the smooth warmth of his skin. It does wonders, being able to remind himself that Claude is here, like this. "I wish I could lie here forever." Dimitri wishes Claude never had to part from his side...

The voices seem to fade, Claude thinks, whenever they're here like this. The Dimitri who seethes with impatience every time he hears Edelgard's name, the one who's desperate to get to Enbarr and enact vengeance, probably would not have said such a thing. But _this_ Dimitri, the one with the soft smile who made him tea and brought him blankets? Claude's as sure as ever that this Dimitri means it. Wouldn't that be something? To just...stay in Fodlan, forget about proving himself worthy of his father's throne, leave the Alliance in Lorenz's hands, and help Dimitri rule Faerghus instead? Or, better yet, to take the prince back to Almyra with him and let Fodlan learn how to get along without its unbroken lines of Crest-bearing family rule...well. This is all foolishness, obviously. Nothing but a fond and pointless daydream.

Still, the thought warms him almost as much as Dimitri's hands do. He nearly chuckles at himself over it. But instead of voicing it, he says, "Just lie here? I'd think we would get bored after a while, if all we did was lie here. But I bet we could come up with something to keep ourselves occupied for at least a century or so." He leans down again to let Dimitri win his little chase and claim another kiss, then shifts lower to press his lips gently along the prince's neck toward his ear.

It's a good thing the Duke hasn't voiced such thoughts aloud. Over the past two days, Dimitri has contemplated things dangerously similar. "I could never grow bored of you." Regardless of knowing full well what Claude intended to imply, Dimitri can be, as always, nothing short of completely genuine. How odd it feels, loving this much. His breath escapes him in a surprised little huff, and the prince falls pliant under Claude's kisses.

For Claude’s part, he’s pretty sure he’ll never get bored of hearing Dimitri say wonderful things about him like this. It’s still so alien, the idea that someone could admire him so much, and then just...say so. Usually, even Claude’s closest friends accompany anything they say about him with an eye roll or a caveat; and they’re usually joking or being fond, but...still. It’s a particular dynamic that he knows he cultivated himself, but only half-deliberately, and he still inwardly tires of it sometimes. Dimitri might say he’s incorrigible or that Claude will be the death of him, but his real feelings are never in question, and Claude’s so used to analyzing every situation to determine the best outcome for himself that occasionally he needs to forcibly remind himself that he _should_ take the prince’s words at face value.

The more they do this, the more Claude feels a strange urge to answer the unasked question now instead of months from now. It’s always been this way—ever since the Academy, it’s been harder to keep his secrets from Dimitri than from anyone else. He would never tell the true reason: that there’s a part of him that feels guilty for doing so when the prince is so painfully sincere. He’s pretty sure Dimitri wouldn’t even mind, or hold it against him. But the cycle of mutual guilt it would cause between them wouldn’t help anyone.

So Claude crushes the urge, though he’s well aware that it’s only been two days and that urge will only grow over time. He’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. He turns his focus fully on the here and now, kissing his way to Dimitri’s ear and running his tongue lightly around its shell before murmuring quietly, “You most definitely won’t. There’s so much more I want to do with you.”

So much for a fleeting earlier resolve to keep himself more under control, Dimitri thinks. Of course, that lingering fear remains even--especially--in these private moments with Claude; the reminder that he must be careful, that the man he holds close to him is still very human and still very fragile even if he has managed to survive to this point. It's a little easier, however, to allow himself to simply be, to react honestly, to let those emotions come tricking out... slowly, but surely.

And Claude is still making it very, very difficult to restrain himself. Dimitri shifts just slightly, so that he can hold Claude more comfortably on top of him, adjusting until he can cradle him between his thighs. When he speaks, it comes out half-choked in his surprise. Claude's always so full of surprises. "Go on..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued... ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The somewhat smutty followup to last chapter's fluff, in which the boys make some discoveries about what they like in bed and talk about their fantasies...

"There’s so much more I want to do with you.”

So much for a fleeting earlier resolve to keep himself more under control, Dimitri thinks. Of course, that lingering fear remains even--especially--in these private moments with Claude; the reminder that he must be careful, that the man he holds close to him is still very human and still very fragile even if he has managed to survive to this point. It's a little easier, however, to allow himself to simply be, to react honestly, to let those emotions come trickling out... slowly, but surely.

And Claude is still making it very, very difficult to restrain himself. Dimitri shifts just slightly, so that he can hold Claude more comfortably on top of him, adjusting until he can cradle him between his thighs. When he speaks, it comes out half-choked in his surprise. Claude's always so full of surprises. "Go on..."

"What, and ruin the surprise? Mm...I think I'll keep it to myself for now." Claude gives Dimitri's ear one last caress with his tongue before moving back to his mouth for deeper, longer kisses this time, pressing himself as close to the prince as he can, thoroughly warmed by his body heat inside this woolen cocoon, lying on soft furs, and wanting nothing more than to stay right here all winter long. "What about you," he asks between kisses, "any ideas for how we could...keep ourselves busy?"

The prince squirms under the weight of him, and feels a shiver run through him at that husky register Claude's voice drops into. "I, ah..." _What did he ask again?_ "I-I've thought about... a lot of things. That I-- don't know that I could... repeat."

"Hmmm." This time, the tone of the low hum is definitely deliberately calculated. Claude trails a hand down Dimitri's chest, idly. "How are we supposed to do them if you don't tell me what they are?" He smirks down at the prince. "But I suppose if you can't repeat them, then you can just show me."

There's a refute on the tip of Dimitri's tongue, a remark about not having enough time, although... he is quick to recall how easily they disproved that one, mere hours ago. That trailing touch of Claude's drags a sigh from him, as he squeezes his hands where they drop to land against Claude's backside. "I wouldn't know where to begin," he says, sheepish, but honest. "There are some days when being around you is good enough, and others when it could never be enough. I'm not certain what sort of day it is today..."

”Well, there’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? ;)” Claude comes back to claim Dimitri’s lips yet again, while his hands slowly roam. He keeps it simple, as though inviting the other man to set the pace and do whatever he likes. He’ll never stop marveling at all the sheer power there is in the prince’s body, he thinks, as his hands explore the muscles under the shirt; how easily he could snap Claude in half if he had a mind. _Maybe that should be more of a worry than a turn-on, but..._

So much for Claude lightening up on his teasing. Dimitri's grunt in reply is muffled by lips against his own and, for all that a brief spike of playful indignation flares in him, he manages to keep the squeeze of his hand from bordering on painful, he hopes. As worried as he is of not having time (or worse, of Claude tiring of their antics together with how frequent they've been since their reunion), he's reminded easily that... for the coming months, this may be all that they have.

There's a sudden desperation in his kisses, a new sort of fervor he musters before breaking for air. "I've thought," he rasps out, right beside Claude's ear, "about more, much more... already you own my heart, but my body too is yours."

Claude's not sure what prompts Dimitri's sudden spike of passion, but he's only too glad to match it. He starts to catch his breath as Dimitri speaks, but hearing what he has to say has Claude's face flushing hot. There's that word again--'yours.' When he replies, he doesn't lift his head, nuzzling into the prince's neck instead; his voice is low, almost a whisper, more anticipating than teasing. "And what would you have me do with it, Dima?"

Being embarrassed or coy or any combination of the two will get them nowhere. The prince decides he ought to swallow his pride while he can, not that he's ever truly been averse to telling Claude the truth. When he speaks, his words come out half-whispered, half-laughed. "I dreamt once of taking you on my throne, though given our circumstances... that in particular will have to wait." His hands roam slowly up the expanse of Claude's back, finding the skin above the ridge of his spine and tracing his fingertips along its curve.

A tiny shiver travels down Claude's spine, though whether it's because of what Dimitri's fingers are doing or that dream of his, he isn't sure. A little from column A and a little from column B, most likely. He chuckles soft and low, not with mirth but because the thought of letting the King of Faerghus fuck him on the Throne of Lions is incredibly hot...as is the thought of returning the favor, should Dimitri ever visit Almyra... "Add that to our Fhirdiad agenda, then."

That chuckle does _something_ to Dimitri... "Mn. Though I'll admit that the thought of you having your way with me..."

"I'd be happy to, if that's what you want." Claude tilts his head up to lightly nip at the prince's earlobe with his teeth. "And as long as it's time for confessions, I should tell you that I get hard whenever I think about you and that amazing strength of yours pinning me down until I'm helpless to stop you from doing whatever you want to me." He's whispering too; it's not something he's told anyone before, but he's realized that he trusts Dimitri more than he trusts anyone else in the world. He always has such a hard time relaxing, such a hard time giving up control and just existing. But here, in the privacy of their intimate moments, he would give control to Dimitri willingly and gladly, knowing it wouldn't be abused.

To hear Claude's admission...Dimitri's surprised, and somewhat warmed, and now most certainly thinking of ways to show off that strength of his for Claude, too. As he does with every other secret that's been shared with him, Dimitri is quick to hoard it, and every one of its implications, deep in his chest, tucked reverently away to revisit. "It is," he breathes out in response, hips shifting under the other man's weight. "What I want, I mean."

That shift sets Claude's blood rushing--that, and the look in Dimitri's eye when he agrees. He's heard an old wives' tale that if you stare into someone's eyes for four minutes, you fall in love with them, guaranteed. Just a silly game, of course, but whenever he looks into that bright blue eye, an open window to every feeling that bubbles up out of the prince even with only the slightest change in his expression-- _he's always been so expressive_ \--Claude can almost believe in it. Almost. But in reality--

\--well, he said he'd wait until the end of the war, didn't he? Any sooner and he risks compromising his ability to plan clearly, to be ruthless when he needs to be, to take every variable into account no matter how unpleasant. It's so hard, with Dimitri here in his arms, to remember just why that risk is so important to avoid... "Then take your clothes off for me," he murmurs, "and then take mine off, too."

The prince almost shivers, when the command reaches his ears. "Of course," comes his mutter in reply, and Dimitri, for all of his nervousness whenever they should stray into this territory, keeps his hands steady as he carefully nudges Claude up to put enough space between them, moving to peel off his own shirt, and then his trousers. There's little embarrassment or self consciousness to feel anymore in front of him, probably remarkable given the short time they've been reunited... but, well, this is a culmination, five long years of waiting and dreaming and hoping. And Claude hasn't taken issue with him yet, even after having seen everything.

That little 'of course' is oddly mesmerizing to hear, and for all that Claude feels weak in the knees whenever Dimitri gets forceful, in this moment he admits to himself that he could get used to that kind of response, too. He watches, unblinking, drinks in the sight of Dimitri's body again; the disrobing takes little time, no teasing involved, but even that is a kind of rush of its own--knowing that all Claude needed to do was say the word and the deed was done immediately.

Dimitri settles again after having removed his trousers and turns his attention, now, to Claude. "On your knees?" Comes his soft request.

Claude moves as he's asked, getting to his knees to allow Dimitri the access he needs. It's not just the prince's face that's expressive; his voice is hypnotizing, whether he's dipping into that lower register that sounds like a wildcat's purr or speaking softly like this, as though every word is made of glass covered in velvet, and by hearing it, Claude saves it from shattering.

Dimitri's touch is careful, reverent in undressing the Duke. Shirt first, freed carefully from where he's tucked it into his waistband, followed by a quiet and sneaking sort of anticipation once his attention moves elsewhere. As his fingers are busied sliding his pants down over his hips, Dimitri takes amusement in diverting some of that affection to Claude's chest, laden with feathery kisses across his collarbone. Then he leans back slightly, ever eager to see him bared once he's done what he can do in this position.

And then his eye flickers back to Claude's. Waiting.

Dimitri's hands moving so carefully, his lips dancing across Claude's skin like this, almost feel as though they, too, are speaking words of a kind. He wants to know all the ways in which the prince can express himself, wants to learn to translate them all and let those freely given feelings wash over him. He finishes the job with a few quick movements, pushing the last of his clothes out of the way and settling back down into the cushions and furs, still on his knees but seated, now. And Dimitri...waits. Waits for him to say something else--to tell him what to do. And it didn't really sink in until just now what exactly it is that Dimitri's giving him permission to do: _anything he wants._ All those years of heartache and frustration, regret and grief, fantasies he thought would always remain just that...it all flashes through his mind.

"...I wish this tent had walls," he says suddenly, smirking. "I've always wanted you to take me up against a wall. But since that's off the table...kiss me. Touch me. Everywhere, in any way you want, until I'm ready for you." He punctuates this last bit by taking himself in hand and stroking once, twice, to make sure Dimitri knows exactly what he means by ready.

The order flicks a switch in him. Dimitri nods, ever eager and moves onto his knees. He scoops Claude into his arms with ease, and great care, a solemn caution that persists into the drag of calloused fingertips along his hips, his sides and chest. The prince notes with no small amount of pleasure the mark still blooming against his skin and thinks that another, and perhaps another still will suit him beautifully--

"As you wish." How profound it feels, leaving his lips to fall against his beloved so softly. His lips find Claude's pulse to start, while one broad palm flattens against his hip and the other curls into his hair. It's no small satisfaction, knowing how eagerly his touches are accepted, nor knowing the pleased sounds, the praise, his most treasured one intends for him. Ignoring his own growing need is nothing—as ever, he seeks Claude's pleasure, before all else.

Claude watches the effect his bidding has with a bit of wonder, captivated by the way Dimitri becomes...it's strange to think the word 'obedient' of the prince of Faerghus, the powerful King of Lions who dominates the battlefield so effortlessly, but it's the word that comes to mind. He almost hesitates to breathe when those words reach him, as though he might be imagining them; he may be the leader of the Leicester Alliance and Almyran royalty, but he's never in his life had anyone acquiesce to him like _that_. As though Dimitri were breathing a prayer. He doesn't close his eyes, not when the prince moves his hands over his body with such an air of...devotion--another word that comes unbidden to mind--and not when Dimitri's lips begin their work, and not when those fingers tangle in his hair. He wants to _see_ this, all of this--he wants to take in these acts of veneration Dimitri performs and read the message they express, with every breath and every touch. Now more than ever, this open outpouring of emotion...of love, he thinks, and the word is hard to form even in his mind, but easier for the way Dimitri's making it so undeniable even without words...sets his heart to pounding.

He tilts his head back, pressing it further into Dimitri's grasp and exposing more of his neck to those lips. "...it's only been a day, and you already remember what I like. I'm impressed, Dima."

"I could never forget regardless." It's only fuel for Dimitri's ego, the way Claude responds to his touches, encourages them even. When he descends with lips parted and teeth bared to his neck, he's just as cautious, controlled in his aggression even if his kisses are rougher than most he gives to Claude. He's quiet at first, more than content to revel in feeling out his reactions. He gets to thinking, though, as always. About all of the things he's wished to say over the years and how he never, until now, had the opportunity.

"Claude," Dimitri breathes out, words warm against the wet patch he's just painted against the crook between his neck and shoulder. The hand on Claude's hip tightens its grip just enough, nails dragging lightly against his skin. "My Claude. My beloved... these days have been a dream for me. Even after this war has come to pass... I can't bear to allow them to end." His lips move down, light across Claude's chest, kissing teasingly at a nipple and moving on just as quickly. "I know not what will become of Faerghus or the throne I'm to lay claim to, but I refuse to let _this_ be all that we have."

That aggression...Dimitri might be keeping it on a tight leash, but it's unmistakable in the way those kisses seem to want to consume him, and there's something indescribably arousing about watching the prince hold back like this. Claude's starting to think it won't take nearly as long as he might have thought to be ready for the next order he plans to give, but--

 _'My beloved.'_ Claude has never felt particularly beloved--not by those he's meant to rule, nor those who follow him into battle, nor even his friends for all that he knows they value and like him. From anyone else, this word would sound like a mockery. It's almost too much to bear, hearing it spoken completely sincerely. He can't take it, and if it weren't for Dimitri going on to say more, he might have...he isn't sure. Laughed, or cried, or put aside their little game to kiss this man into oblivion. As it is, he's left with a rapidly beating heart and an absurd desire to reply with some kind of stupid promise he probably can't keep. He should, he knows, be wary of a sentiment like this. He should be wary when Dimitri calls him 'my Claude,' as though were he to pack his bags and fly back to Almyra tomorrow, the prince would feel betrayed and demand he return...or follow him over the mountains. He _should_ be wary, but he isn't, and he's not sure what that means.

Instead of dwelling on it, he arches his back to lean into that teasing kiss and groans softly when the prince moves on immediately. "...I don't want them to end either," and it's true, and it isn't a promise, and he's a little disgusted with himself for continuing to choose his words so carefully even here with Dimitri--didn't he just endure years of thinking he'd never be able to say what was on his mind? shouldn't he start doing that now before it really does become too late?-- "But personally, I think _this_ is pretty amazing as it is, too. And I've changed my mind about letting you do it however you please, if you're going to tease me like that." A half-mischievous, half-imperious glint graces his eye, now. "I want you to let that lion out of its cage a little more, Dima."

 _Out of its cage, hm._ After Claude's reaction yesterday, once he saw how Dimitri has truly become in the midst of this war, he's caught off guard that Claude would want to coax any of the prince from Gronder back out... It's mildly reassuring at least, to know he isn't entirely disgusted by what he's seen. He told Dimitri that he hadn't been afraid, merely worried...hm. "That isn't the sort of permission you ought to grant lightly." He doesn't miss Claude's reaction (hard to when he isn't bothering to hide it) and when his lips return to the man's chest, it's his teeth that find his nipple again. "Are you certain, Claude?"

Claude does close his eyes now, just for a moment, to enjoy that sensation, before looking back at Dimitri with a desire bordering on challenge. “Whatever happened to ‘as I wish’?” he murmurs.

 _This man--_ "If you're going to be that way--" That's the only warning the prince bothers to give. He hoists Claude from his lap and into his arms with ease, and he's quick, though ever careful, in coaxing the duke onto his knees. They aren't separated for long, with Dimitri pressing close the moment he's certain Claude is stable and his arms wrap around him from behind, one looped around his waist, pulling him to sit back against Dimitri's lap... "If I must stop... tell me." The drag of his teeth against the nape of Claude's neck is simultaneous with the hand that wraps around his length, and that subtle buck of his hips up against him.

Claude almost chuckles at that non-warning. "I will--" And then his words abandon him, cutting off into a gasp at the definitive change in Dimitri's grip, his warmth, his movements. Claude does laugh, now, low and pleased, resting his hands on Dimitri's legs--not that he needs to brace himself, as the prince's strong arm is plenty enough to keep him where he is. "Much better..."

A hum, and a rougher jerk of Dimitri's wrist, are his answers. They serve to steal Claude's breath from him in a wordless noise. He closes his eyes and relaxes his neck, letting his hair fall down over his face as his body tenses in all the right ways in rhythm with Dimitri's hand and hips. Dimitri doesn't wish to restrain himself—he chases Claude's pleasure without reserve, keeps just as much pace with the strokes of his hand as he does the grinding of his hips up against Claude's thighs, and only barely manages to stay cautious when he clamps his mouth down against the man's shoulder; only when he believes he hasn't broken skin does he continue suckling and scraping his teeth there. "You said," comes his utterance in between the bites he calls kisses, "you wish there were walls to pin you against. Should you come to Faerghus... I plan to take you on every surface I may find."

A softer whine escapes Claude, then, at the sharp press of teeth and tongue on flesh. "...I like this plan," his reply is breathless. "Starting with your throne, right? Wild horses...couldn't keep me away...from Fhirdiad now, ha..."

"If we get that far. More than anything..." How Dimitri adores it when Claude gets like this. He's a tad gentler when he gives the skin at Claude's shoulder a break, soothing the mark he's bitten into the skin there with his tongue. "I'll be keeping you to myself, when we get to Fhirdiad. First, I want you in my bed, in my colors..." A dangerous sentiment to trap himself in, knowing all he does about Claude's circumstances...

Claude almost shivers, even while he knows he shouldn't even entertain such thoughts. He can imagine it, though--awaiting the king in his chambers, dressed in nothing but that royal blue cape, first taking control and then giving it up entirely...listening again to how much Dimitri adores him in blue...and then he thinks about bringing the prince to Almyra, and draping him in light, loose-fitting clothes of amber and green and white, and then taking him on the balcony of the palace observatory under the stars in the warm summer breeze...he almost laughs at himself, fantasizing about intimacy with Dimitri in the middle of _actual_ intimacy with Dimitri. "Keeping me all to yourself, huh?...and what will you do...if I should stray from the lion's den?"

"Would you?" As much of a real question as it is a tease. Dimitri quickens his pace but only mildly, and takes care to loosen his grip. He's content to play with Claude's chest with the other hand, though, given how he seemed to enjoy it earlier. "If you did, then they may not see you until your return home." Wheresoever home may be for him, by that point. "I take my time with you seriously, and I have no doubt that I will then, too. Perhaps it's selfish of me."

"Mmm--" It didn't take long for Dimitri to get less rough, did it? Not that Claude's complaining; what he's doing is good, _very_ good, and the quicker rhythm makes his breaths come more quickly too, hitching occasionally as he tenses pleasantly under Dimitri's busy hands. "No, Dima, I was...only joking--" A gasp interrupts him. "If I didn't think...you'd have kingly duties to attend to...I'd want to spend every moment in Fhirdiad with you. Ha...guess that makes me the selfish one..."

"I was... planning on taking as much of a break as I could." As silly a thing as it is to think he can pull off, Dimitri is hardly one to abide being told 'no.' "Even if only in the evenings-– I would find time for it."

"I'll take it. Though, for the lion to chase the deer...could be fun, don't you think?"

Dimitri doesn't know what to say at first, but soon his lips spread in something more devious than his usual smile. There's a hum in his throat once his teeth clamp down against Claude's shoulder once more, further toward his neck, now, so that he might make yet another mark. "You want me to... _chase_ you?"

Claude can hardly believe Dimitri is having a serious conversation right in the middle of ...this. He can forgive it, though, when the prince's teeth close on flesh again and he hisses, in pain and pleasure both. Then he laughs. "Why not? If you want me...to stay with you the whole time...you'll have to catch me first." He glances over his shoulder to wink at Dimitri, face flushed with warmth and arousal.

For a clear second, Dimitri is flabbergasted. How did they happen to get here again? He's reminded of their academy days when they would derail themselves in their embarrassment-- "Have I not already caught you?" Compared to mere moments ago, the seal of his lips over the bite is gentler, though only slightly. "I have let go of you once, and don't intend to do so again."

”Mm, you have a point...” In truth, Dimitri’s words go to a deeper place in Claude's mind than his playful tone suggests; he has few regrets, but letting the prince slip away from him for so long is one of them. “I suppose your courtiers would find us running through the halls of your palace to be... pretty unseemly, anyway.” Which isn’t to say he wouldn’t do it. He leans back, closing what little distance there is between them to press himself against Dimitri’s chest and tip his head back, bringing his hands up to slide his fingers into the prince’s hair. “I just want to be there with you...see the land where the lion reigns.”

"I intend to show you." The hands in his hair have Dimitri stifling a sigh in his throat, and his hips jolt slightly; their derailed little conversation there distracted him briefly, though he's quick to renew his pace once he's shoved aside their banter for later. "Claude, I truly--" Oh, his grip becomes particularly rough for a moment and he practically purrs against Claude's shoulder, tightens his own grip in response without much thought. He can't really be as rough as he wishes to when they, ah... will soon have responsibilities to attend to, not to mention the boundaries they've yet to discuss, but the prince briefly lets himself indulge with a bite to Claude's neck, a drag of nails across his chest.

There’s a part of Claude’s mind that’s curious to know what Dimitri was about to say, but his sudden renewal of attentions and quickened pace drowns the curiosity out; Claude’s conversation devolves into pleased gasps and Dimitri’s name and urging the prince on, as his hips thrust up into that firm, strong hand in a steady rhythm.

Later, they'll have the time for Dimitri to indulge Claude's request more seriously, with more fervor. He's content for now to hint instead and falls quickly back into their rhythm, soothing the roughness of his teeth and touch with the softest of kisses and quietest sounds that spill from his lips and against Claude's shoulder, when that friction between them grows unbearable. "Claude I, _mn_ -"

Claude’s hands clench tightly in that fine blond hair and the tension pulls his body taut, as he shudders in the prince’s grip and can’t keep back a wordless moan. The vibrations of the sounds Dimitri’s making reverberating softly through his chest at Claude’s back are the last straw, and soon he’s collapsing back into Dimitri’s arms, breathing hard, hair damp with sweat and falling into his face.

Dimitri lasts no longer than him. His guiding strokes falter and the prince all but clamps down against Claude's neck again, muffling the groan that rises in him, and managing those last stuttering thrusts before he's spent. A hand drops behind him, propping himself up before his body can go completely slack. "It may not have been... quite as rough as you requested." It's imparted with a kiss to his neck, the first in a series in apologies for this newest mark blooming on his skin. "I did not want to push it."

"Mm-hmm..." Claude chuckles a bit. "Next time, then..." His voice drops, then, to a low murmur, lazy and sly. "Next time, will you do as I say?" It's part joke, part...offer.

As tired as Dimitri feels, Claude's voice dipping low has his toes curling. "I will." It's a breathy promise that leaves his lips and the prince, uncharacteristically demure, bows his head, noses the crook of his neck...

Claude isn’t sure whether he expected that response or not, but there’s something oddly compelling about hearing it. Something intoxicating about the way Dimitri dips his head. And _that_ , he wasn’t expecting. Still dazed with satisfaction, he turns a bit so he can look Dimitri in the eye. “I have to say, a day ago I wouldn’t have thought I’d hear you say that.”

"Only for you... Your Highness." When Dimitri averts his eye, it isn't shyness but reverence, of a sort. The title causes even him to shiver. No, Dimitri finds he doesn't mind this even a mite.

Claude's eyes go wide and his breath catches. He feels his face heat up like a furnace. At first, he’s not sure at all how to feel about being addressed this way...he’s spent so long deliberately avoiding saying or even implying anything about his royal heritage, to the point where it’s harder to talk about it than to keep pretending he’s just an Alliance duke. He’s pushed it down far enough that he occasionally has trouble even thinking of himself that way. And yet...

And yet, from Dimitri, it feels...good. Refreshing. The last time anyone talked to Claude that way was before he came to Fodlan, and anyone who would was either someone who hated him and spat his title at him with disdain, or a commoner who thought he was so far above them he might as well not have had a name. It was originally why he didn’t want anyone in the Alliance to call him by a title at all; and strangely, it was also originally why he’d started teasing Dimitri about his. Over time that turned affectionate, of course, but...this is different from any of those things. Coming from Dimitri, it sounds like...respect, but more than that. It sounds like a prayer. It sounds like what he’s really saying is ‘my love.’ And...it’s nice.

“Dima...” He lifts a finger to Dimitri’s chin and gently tilts his head back up to meet his eye. He’s smiling, and there’s awe in it. “...it’s ‘Mīrzā.’ My title.”

 _Mīrzā. Mīrzā..._ Dimitri hums, leans into that touch, briefly closes his eye—every morsel of insight he gains, it's so oddly satisfying. Heartwarming. Little bits and pieces of Claude's trust, almost. The prince bows his head but now to lean in, and press a feather of a kiss to the man's hand. "Mīrzā." A whisper, more than anything.

Claude's face isn’t getting any less red, and this is even stranger, to hear Dimitri speak this word; it feels like a dream. He thinks again about taking the prince to Almyra...about standing with him on a palace balcony overlooking the city at night during the Festival of Lights, and watching his face light up... He leans in to kiss Dimitri gently, slowly, the only way he can think of to express all these feelings he can’t define.

Dimitri's noticed this too, the way that Claude will forgo his words when he can't muster them properly; it's much smoother than Dimitri, who fumbles through his poorly chosen words and incomplete thoughts regardless. Dimitri doesn't hide his eagerness now, though. If this is how Claude must express his sentiments then he will respond in kind, even if nothing could convey the weight of Claude's presence in his heart. "Mīrzā," he breathes. "And what will I call you, when you are king?"

”...Hazret.” It’s nearly a whisper, this word Claude associates with his father, and with long afternoons sitting in the throne room watching the king listen to people’s advice and problems, and with feasts on warm evenings with music and dancing. “...I want to take you there someday. When this war is over.”

The prince's first response is a hum, low and pleased, and he falls silent again for some time while he disentangles them, leans to find a cloth and clean them both as best he can for now. When he's settled beside Claude once again, Dimitri combs the man's hair from his forehead with his fingers. "I wish to, truly. To see Almyra with my own eyes... and not only to see you upon its throne. Though such would be a treat. Perhaps then, your brilliance will truly have been recognized..."

Claude’s usual responses to such unabashed compliments seem out of place here, and he knows he’s going to have to learn how to cope with hearing these things from Dimitri, because he has no doubt the prince will continue to say them... “I don’t know what I did to deserve that kind of praise,” he murmurs, perhaps seeming uncharacteristically humble. “But I would welcome you to Almyra regardless of whether I succeed at ascending the throne or not. And damn anyone who gets in our way.”

 _Whether he succeeds or not._ Dimitri's reminded of thoughts he's had in the past, a future together and what it would look like without the weight of nations imposed upon them. A blanket is drawn up and around the both of them, and the prince curls around him with ease. "Throne or no. My place is here."

This...is a dangerous conversation, says that little voice in the back of Claude’s mind. It’s dangerous no matter how he looks at it - either Dimitri doesn’t really mean that, and taking it seriously means asking for a broken heart; or he does really mean it...and the consequences of that are daunting to consider. But Claude's not ready to talk about any of that. So he pulls himself close to the prince, as close as he can, basking in the warmth of man and blanket both. “...I don’t suppose you happen to have a scarf or anything in your colors, do you?” he asks quietly.

 _Something in his colors..._ "I suppose... Dedue and Gustave's readiness may have its usefulness yet." Dimitri only elaborates after realizing, a moment later, it might make little sense to Claude—but he doesn't doubt that Baron Dominic has prepared for the day when the Prince of Faerghus would take up his father's armor. Dimitri scoffs, though it leaves him sounding closer to a sigh. "In little time, I could. I will have to get myself in order, first... but I will find something."

Claude isn't sure exactly what Dimitri is getting at, but he'll find out soon enough, it seems. He finds the prince's hand and presses it to his lips. "Glad to hear it. But it can wait until tomorrow. After all, we're not going anywhere until morning. I forbid it. ;)"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Dimitri's oddly awake in spite of his tired body. It takes more effort than usual to move them both to lie down properly, though soon he's able to relax against the cushions again, content with Claude in his arms, and finding the nape of his neck to scatter with kisses. Dimitri sighs. "Were it that we could see the stars without needing to dress--"

"Ah, I didn't realize stargazing in the nude was another fantasy of yours, Dima." Claude's definitely teasing now. "When the weather gets warmer, I'll make it a reality."

"I more meant that I don't wish to get up, but I suppose if that is what you read into it..." Regardless of how, it's been far too long since Dimitri could last gaze at the stars and feel more than their vastness, and the emptiness of the sky around them. "I had always wondered, when looking up there, if you too were gazing upon the same sky as I."

"That's my favorite thing about the stars." Claude nestles further into Dimitri's arms with a sigh. "No matter where you are, everyone in the world looks up at the same sky. The stars transcend all borders and walls. All distance. All differences."

"I suppose so." If only all else could follow suit. But Dimitri supposes there's no use wishing for things to change when he ought to be out there changing them himself. Later. He's... content, for now, in letting himself be a little selfish. "The dawn soon approaches when these distances, and these differences, will mean nothing... or at least start to."

”It’ll be a long and difficult journey,” Claude acknowledges. “But much more bearable, together. I’m so glad you can see that dawn the way I do.”

"Together." How is it that Claude always manages to drive him back into these warm feelings? It's wonderful, and very much absurd, considering what they just finished doing-- Dimitri stifles his chuckle into Claude's shoulder. Kisses him there, again and again, before he lifts his head and steals another kiss from his lips. "Mm. Leave it to you to tire me so thoroughly."

Claude returns that kiss happily, if somewhat lazily. “Hey, just think of it as ensuring you’ll get a nice, long night of beauty sleep. So thoughtful of me, isn’t it? ;)” He tilts his head a little. “What’s so funny?”

"Apparently, there is something about our... sleeping together that makes the both of us become--" _Wistful? Thoughtful?_ "... philosophical." It's a little embarrassing in hindsight, but it isn't as if he's the only one, at least.

”Hmm...” Claude chuckles too, now. “I’d say you started it, but I’m pretty sure I started it last time. Perhaps it’s just the natural way of Claudes and Dimitris when brought to their purest states of contentment.”

 _Contentment..._ Certainly the word for it. In fact, Dimitri can't think of a better descriptor. "I suppose so. Only with you could I feel so at peace, and so I believe that makes sense." Even if he's actually saying it to be cheeky.

Claude grins a little, at Dimitri having taken his dramatic statement so seriously, but it isn’t as though he didn’t also mean it. “...have I told you how safe I feel with you?”

 _Has he?_ Dimitri feels as if he'd remember such a thing—that's an admission of a sort that the prince would hold close to his heart. He shakes his head. "I... do not remember. Do you really...?"

”I do. In fact, I always have.” Claude strokes his fingers idly along Dimitri’s arm as he talks. “As you might imagine, ‘safe’ isn’t something I’ve felt very often in my life. But with you, I can.” He blushes slightly, remembering what Dimitri said early this morning...that given the choice between saving him and killing Edelgard, it wouldn’t be a choice at all. And Claude now has the context to know just how pressing a drive it is for Dimitri to exact revenge...that’s powerful.

Dimitri's speechless, for a time. He's caught between the hypnotic strokes of Claude's fingers on his skin, and the words yet to register in his mind. He's glad, relieved more than anything, because were it to come to it he doesn't think a thing in the world could stop him if Claude were in danger. He sighs, relieved, and presses one last kiss to Claude's neck. "You've no idea how much it means to me, hearing you say that."

Claude smiles, closing his eyes. "Much as I'd love nothing more than to get... _philosophical_ with you some more," he glances back to smirk up at Dimitri, "one of the consequences of feeling safe is that I can actually sleep, for once. So perhaps we should save the rest of the 'philosophy' for tomorrow."  
  
"Yes... you're right." The heat in Dimitri's cheeks now is no more unbearable than the warmth in his chest, and he tightens his arm around Claude. "I hope that your dreams are sweet, my beloved..."  
  
Claude thinks, closing his eyes, that maybe he’d rather never get used to hearing Dimitri call him 'my beloved,' so it always feels this new and wondrous... “Sleep well, Dima.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the joint Alliance and Kingdom armies take down Casp--no, the enemy commanders--at Fort Merceus, it doesn't take much more to finish the job, and the fort is theirs. They send for the rest of their joined forces soon after, and now they have a well-fortified base of operations from which to launch their final assault on Enbarr.
> 
> Which is exactly what Claude and Dimitri are planning when the messenger runs into the war room with haste and thrusts an urgent message into Claude's hands. He reads it quickly, then reads it again more slowly, and then looks up at Dimitri with a deadly serious glint in his eye.
> 
> "...I need to go back to Leicester. Now."

Their celebration lasts one more day, though the second day mellows from raucous dancing and drinking to companionable chatter and friendly sparring. After that, the bulk of both armies faces more waiting while two smaller groups march southwest through Bergliez territory to carry out Claude's plan, which the Kingdom troops make a lot easier than he'd originally expected. It's...rough, knowing the enemy commanders are yet more of their former friends from the academy, but there's no room left for second guessing or showing mercy. This war must end, and soon.

Their fight to take Fort Merceus also marks the first time since Gronder that Claude sees Dimitri in battle, and he makes certain to position himself so that he can keep an eye on the prince...just in case. The way Dimitri's been ever since that first night might suggest that Claude has nothing to worry about, but he knows the Lion's in there, and is it strange that part of him hopes to see it again? What he doesn't want to see, though, is a return of that shell of despair he'd had to crack open; it's likely that battle brings Dimitri's ghosts to the fore, and so he watches over the prince as he takes his place above the battlefield, ready to step in if he needs to.

He doesn't need to, as it turns out, partially because it's over so quickly. Once they take down Casp--no, the enemy commanders--it doesn't take much more to finish the job, and the fort is theirs. They send for the rest of their joined forces soon after, and now they have a well-fortified base of operations from which to launch their final assault on Enbarr.

Which is exactly what Claude and Dimitri are planning when the messenger runs into the war room with haste and thrusts an urgent message into Claude's hands. He reads it quickly, then reads it again more slowly, and then looks up at Dimitri with a deadly serious glint in his eye.

"...I need to go back to Leicester. Now."

The past days have been enough of a blur, a muddled confusion, that Dimitri almost doesn't register the arrival of the messenger until Claude stops talking. His eye widens, to see the change in his expression and the tone in his voice; though Dimitri knows Claude's sights are always on the wider picture, the duke hasn't bothered to hide his pride in their victory, and so the sudden turn of his mood nearly knocks Dimitri off his balance. "What?" His voice is raspy, throat still burning from his time in battle. "Why now? What's happened?"

"...it's Judith." Claude's not sure if Dimitri remembers her; they've only met the once, that he knows of, back at the academy when she came to fetch him for a Roundtable conference. "The lord of Daphnel. Imperial agents have captured her. They plan to execute her as...as an example." His hand balls into a fist at his side and his voice trembles, and he doesn't care. A panic squeezes his heart like a vise. He can't lose Judith. She's...he just can't.  
  
 _Judith._ The prince racks his brain until he finds something, though it's little more than a hazy mention buried in what remains of his memories of their academy days. A sound escapes his throat, plaintive. He doubts that Judith's execution will be as exaggerated as his own was. Dimitri's hand clenches around a piece of the war table, though thankfully it doesn't give. "How... how did they--" The Imperials must have found some other way, had a squadron or battalion stationed somewhere that Claude's intelligence hadn't been able to find, because like hell had Dimitri allowed any of the troops they'd encountered to survive to tell the tale.

Claude shakes his head at the half-asked question. "I have no idea. Daphnel borders the mountains, I suppose it's possible they found a hidden system of caves, or..." He sighs. "I'll have to find out when I get there."

 _Right,_ Dimitri thinks. _It doesn't much matter how, not right now. There's much to do and not a lot of time._ "... alright. I-- is there anything that you need before you leave? Anything that you need me to do?"

Claude comes closer and places one hand lightly on the prince's chest. "I'm putting the Alliance army under your command until I get back. I'll let Hilda know. Just hold the fort and wait for me." He looks into Dimitri's eye, hoping he won't have to say out loud that he doesn't want Dimitri to lose patience and fly into a reckless rage. "If something happens and I can't return, Hilda and Lorenz will help you plan your attack on Enbarr. Okay?"

 _Claude will be counting on me._ Dimitri lapses back into silence, but takes a moment to himself, and lifts a hand to rest atop Claude's. "Right. You have Failnaught with you. And... your dagger." Even here in their war room, they don't have all the privacy in the world, but the prince doesn't hesitate to loop his other arm around Claude and pull him into an embrace. "You will return. I won't hear otherwise."

Claude slips his free arm around Dimitri in return and holds him close. "Of course. Surviving is what I do best, you know that. ;)" He listens for a moment, glancing around...unless someone's deliberately eavesdropping, they're alone. Still, he keeps his voice low when he says, "Don't I get a kiss for good luck?"

Dimitri does no such listening. His hand lifts to cradle the back of Claude's head and draw him into a kiss, certainly not the light peck he may have been expecting-– But Claude knows Dimitri better, by now. He was hoping for more, and so when Dimitri doesn't disappoint, he leans into it wholeheartedly. Dimitri breathes deep when they separate, and gazes down at Claude with strain in his eye. How it pains him, this. "Be careful... and come back to me."

Claude smiles up at the prince, in an attempt to reassure him one last time. "I will." _If I don't, I'm not sure Enbarr's ready for what might come next..._

And he turns and goes, his smile vanishing as soon as Dimitri can't see his face anymore. He delays only long enough to pack enough supplies and gear to last a few weeks, to make sure his quiver is full, to prepare and saddle his wyvern. To fill Hilda in on the news and listen to her lecture about not taking any unnecessary risks or dangerous gambles, to _just save Judith and come back, so we can finish this war and I can go home and lounge around doing nothing for several months straight, thank you!_ And he gives her a hug, and he mounts up, and he flies off toward the Alliance.

* * *

Claude's departure from Fort Merceus sees a change in the prince most had thought him to be cured of...a foolish notion, in hindsight. But he keeps his word and does what he can to be an effective leader, organizing Claude's spies as they delve ever so slightly further into Imperial territory by the day, though there isn't much to be done but hold the fort. And wait, day after day, for news from Derdriu. Nothing comes after the first week or the second, though Hilda assures him in his most stressful moments that it will be fine.

They receive nothing until after six weeks of silence. The letter is brought to the prince in the night, though the messenger is almost chased off before Dimitri realizes she's arrived. He insists that she's allowed to enter and very nearly snatches the letter from her hands, but he's present enough to (gently) order her to get some food in her and some warmth from their fires before he stalks back to Claude's tent to read the missive.

It's hurried. Claude's handwriting, no doubt, but sloppy compared to his usual fare, lacking the more fanciful hallmarks of his usual letters... Hilda is upset with Dimitri, when he barges into her tent in the wee hours of the morning, though he can tell that even she is anxious once he explains himself. With the fort in capable hands, the prince prepares quickly and is soon off with his mount, the most even-tempered wyvern on hand: Derdriu looms far in the distance, and there isn't a way he's wasting time on horseback.

* * *

The letter Claude received said that Judith had been apprehended in Derdriu, when she'd returned from the Bridge of Myrddin to negotiate a new shipment of supplies to her troops. He isn't sure how that's possible without them having taken the whole city...but he would have heard about that, surely? And the missive was written in the handwriting of one of his most trusted spies, so he had little reason to disbelieve it. But within a day of arriving on the outskirts of the city, hiding his mount in the woods and watching the gates, Claude knows something is wrong. The place looks...normal. The gates are open, merchants come and go, no Imperial soldiers to be found.

So he enters the city and makes his way in a roundabout fashion to his estate, where everything seems fine until he steps into the sitting room to find it full of armed Adrestians and those weird black-masked mages waiting for him. He learns quickly that his spy is dead, and has been since before the letter was sent...and he remembers, back at the monastery, Tomas and Monica. He used to have nightmares about finding out someone he trusted was one of them, the enemy, in disguise.

And now the nightmare is real.

They parade him through downtown Derdriu in chains on the way to the harbor, to dissuade resistance and destroy morale, as the soldiers they'd hidden away on the grounds of the estate emerge to finally take the streets. Claude keeps his composure easily despite all the stares and muttering; if the Imperials thought he would feel shame or humiliation at this after an entire _lifetime_ of stares and muttering, they must be sorely disappointed. They take him to what's colloquially called the Lighthouse, which is not in fact a lighthouse but a stone tower on a little island a mile or two from shore where the Alliance usually keeps important political prisoners. _And now, its own duke. Great._

He learns, too, that they don't have Judith in custody, but Castle Daphnel is under siege. He imagines they snuck up on her the same way. He hopes she can hold them off long enough for something to change. At some point he manages, through some painstakingly elaborate scheming and lots of patience, to send a message to Dimitri.

And then all that's left to do is wait. It's unbearable, really, but he entertains himself by chattering at the guards to see which of them are susceptible to his charm and complaining loudly about how bored he is to annoy them until they relent and bring him some books to read. And he plans, and he keeps track of time, and he observes the soldiers, and he waits.

Unfortunately, the mages in black show up before Dimitri does.

* * *

Dimitri's arrival in Derdriu comes in days, as opposed to weeks, though he knows he'll have to take his time picking his way through the city. Claude's last words in the letter stick out in his mind, a constant reminder, a sharp whisper of his voice that cuts through all other thoughts: _don't trust anyone._

It isn't difficult to figure out where he's likely being held. A tower on the sea, that was Claude's clue...

Dimitri is by no means stealthy, but the tower in the harbor is far enough removed that he can avoid entering Derdriu proper, leaving his wyvern a quarter day's trek from the city to circle around on foot. He clutches fast to its summoning whistle, deep in his cloak's inner pocket--the most crucial part of this, perhaps.

He takes to traveling at night, especially once he breaches the tower. It's heavily guarded, naturally, and Dimitri is quick to deduce from his observations of their watch patterns that they likely aren't accustomed to having so many soldiers stationed here: Claude must still be imprisoned inside. Some few days pass before Dimitri spots an opportunity to enter mostly undeterred; the occasional bodies he spots floating through the harbor, far enough removed from the city proper that, perhaps, the Imperials don't care for subtlety any longer, are enough to get him probing.

Thank the Goddess that Claude insisted on teaching him to swim, back at the academy. It's unpleasant, the swim from the harbor shore to the small outlet at the base of the tower, which is just barely big enough to accommodate him without his armor to get in the way. But even as he emerges amidst mountains of bodies below, he thinks: _I've seen worse._

But he needs to make this fast. Enough time has passed, more than he's been willing to risk. He seizes the opportunity the moment it comes, when footsteps in the corridor beyond grow louder and louder and an Imperial soldier, come to dump another prisoner, perhaps, walks into his trap. His hand clamps down across the man's lips and Dimitri drags him into the shadow, unsheathing his blade and drawing it to his neck as quick as a breath. "Fight me, and you will die. Scream, or speak anything but the answer that I require, and I will gut you like the beast that you are. Do you understand me?"

The soldier at the wrong end of the prince's knife nods hesitantly, eyes wide. "Good." The blade presses closer, and Dimitri waits briefly, listening for footsteps, voices, anything. When nothing comes, he deems it safe enough, for now. "Your prisoner—the Duke of the Alliance. Do you know where he is?"

The soldier...hesitates. Presumably he knows how important this particular prisoner is, and wonders whether betraying the Empire is worth it. But after a moment that's just a little too long, he nods again.

It's a fluid motion that has Dimitri spinning the Imperial soldier to pin him, back to the wall, and fingers clamped over his mouth. The pressure of his knife doesn't relent, and the prince only dares to move his fingers, parted just slightly enough to allow the man to speak, after he's asked: "What floor?"

"The...the fifth," the soldier stammers, tense as a bowstring. When at last he takes in the sight of his assailant, his face pales. "You're--"

The helmet he wears isn't enough to save him from the force of Dimitri's strength, when the prince drags him forward and slams him back into the wall. Dead or unconscious, he doesn't bother to check before he moves to the door; the silence of the halls persists even after, so he imagines he's still in the clear. Five stories between him and Claude--they're keeping him at the top, then. He wastes no more time in pushing open the heavy door and stepping into the shadows of a stone stairwell, and then he begins to climb.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the mages all lie still and bleeding, the prince stifles his breathing, heavy as it is. This area is empty for now, from what he can see, but he waits as if for an ambush, Fragarach gripped tightly in hand. Silence continues to reign for a moment, but soon there are distant footsteps and the sounds of doors flung open; someone must have found the guard downstairs. It was inevitable. He hasn't time to waste, not that it's difficult to determine which of these rooms is occupied—it shimmers with an odd light, the obvious signs of an enchantment. What precious seconds he loses searching for the key, unwilling to risk unleashing the spell's backfire, he makes up for in his swiftness to shoulder open the heavy door, made effortless by his strength.
> 
> Dimitri is disturbed by what he sees, though relieved: Claude is in one piece. Outwardly, at least. The prince crosses the room in but a few strides and approaches him, kneeling before him. "Claude? Are you with me?"

It isn't very well lit inside the tower, and it helps Dimitri to navigate unseen, though... it's hardly populated, either, outside of a patrolling guardsman he may slip past on occasion. Mounting paranoia lingers in the back of his mind even as he counts the floors with great anticipation... and when he arrives at the fifth, pauses beyond the door. He despises this pervading silence, but cannot bear to waste time. The prince pushes the door open and slips inside with a quickness.  
  
The reason for the silence--and for the preponderance of corpses coming out of this tower into the bay--becomes clearer, here in the tower proper, where a curved hall lined with cells shows clear evidence of magic. Sigils and mandalas drawn on floors stained with blood, the occasional half-melted torch sconce or wall scoured with unnaturally deep gouge marks in strange patterns. Most of these cells are empty now, though some show signs that they haven't been empty for long. But there's muttering coming from around the bend here, from a group of masked mages in black gathered before the final stretch of cells all the way at the end of the hall.  
  
Dimitri is no fool blinded by rage: he can't allow them the advantage when he's come this far, this close. And so the prince keeps his approach slow, painfully so, utilizing the darkness and the mages' absorption with one another until he's _just_ close enough–-

Before they can truly react, find the distance to smite him with their magic, it's over. He hasn't his lance, but Dimitri needs only Fragarach, and is moving to the next mage as they watch the first fall dead in confusion. The next is run through with the blade and separated clean at the waist, and the last two are spared the dignity of his patience too; when Dimitri lunges for the remaining enemies, he musters little more than a single, broad swing of his sword (and a blessing it is for them that his blade is sharp, for the slices across their throats would have hurt all the more had his blade not been maintained to perfection).

Inside his cell, Claude can hear the flurry of combat, but everything comes to him through the haze of half-consciousness. The cell itself is comfortable enough--it's normally used for political prisoners, after all, and the Leicester nobility isn't cruel--but the mages have made of this room an eerie ritual space like the others. Claude tries to focus on the sounds outside the door, but they're over almost as quickly as they began, and then there's...nothing. He doesn't dare to make any noise. Just in case.

Once the mages all lie still and bleeding, the prince stifles his breathing, heavy as it is. This area is empty for now, from what he can see, but he waits as if for an ambush, Fragarach gripped tightly in hand. Silence continues to reign for a moment, but soon there are distant footsteps and the sounds of doors flung open; someone must have found the guard downstairs. It was inevitable. He hasn't time to waste, not that it's difficult to determine which of these rooms is occupied—it shimmers with an odd light, the obvious signs of an enchantment. What precious seconds he loses searching for the key, unwilling to risk unleashing the spell's backfire, he makes up for in his swiftness to shoulder open the heavy door, made effortless by his strength.

Dimitri is disturbed by what he sees, though relieved: Claude is in one piece. Outwardly, at least. The prince crosses the room in but a few strides and approaches him, kneeling before him. "Claude? Are you with me?"

Claude forces his eyes open now, made a little easier by the sudden rush of panic and adrenaline. Instinct prompts him to slide his hand under the pillow, but of course, there's no dagger here--but by the time he realizes this, he's recognized Dimitri, and his eyes close again with his sigh of relief. "Dima...thank the gods..."

It's not so dim in the room as to obscure what the problem is from Dimitri's eyes. Claude's clearly lost a lot of blood, but not to an open wound; this was controlled and purposeful. He's present enough to speak... and to recognize the prince, at least. Dimitri isn't ignorant of Claude's captors approaching, but he's nothing but careful when he removes his cloak to wrap it around the duke, nothing but gentle when he speaks to him again. "Claude, I'm going to carry you on my back." The corners and corridors of the tower are tight and close. He can use his sword one-handed here, if he must. He turns, holding his arms out behind him. "Come, take hold of me."

A spike of alarm abruptly takes hold of Claude, not because Dimitri's said or done anything out of character, but...he just can't shake the knowledge that _anyone_ could be the enemy. Anyone. It isn't logic in this case, just pure fear; and after a moment, he manages to put it aside long enough to pull himself up and hold onto the prince as tightly as he can. "...we can't leave the relic here with them."

"Relic?" Dimitri racks his distracted brain, struggling to recall any mention of a relic. Nothing comes to mind at first, and briefly he struggles between this piece of information and the urge to run, now that he has Claude with him. He moves near the door, still half-lost in thought, Fragarach in his grasp, before it hits him. _The bow._ "Ah." The prince grunts, softly to himself, and braces as footsteps approach on the other side of the door... "Hold on to me tightly, Claude, alright?"

"Ha...do my best..." Claude's grip is weak, much weaker than usual, but he tries. He just keeps telling himself: _there's no way they could have replaced Dimitri. They couldn't have. It doesn't make sense. ...right?_

The prince waits until the door is flung open to strike, and his blow finds its target, the tip of his sword lodging square in the chest of a dark mage too slow to react. It's difficult to fight when his attention is divided between the enemies before him and the ally behind. It doesn't do much to hold Claude when he hooks his hand under the man's thigh, but the grip around his shoulders is faltering, and the longer it goes on, and the more Imperial soldiers fall under his blade, the more his thoughts begin to spiral. By the time this latest wave of mages and soldiers is dispatched, he very nearly sets Claude down to look him over once again even though they haven't the time.

"I'll have you out of here soon," Dimitri says quietly, and squeezes his thigh, shouldering beyond the door and into the stairwell. Silent again, likely not for long... he passed several rooms on his journey through the tower, though it's only once he's fought his way back down to the second floor that he finds what they're searching for. Claude's weapons are the only ones here, but it's all he cares to take, and after a moment of adjustments manages to claim Claude's relic weapon and confiscated dagger.

Descending the rest of the tower afterward is a quiet, tense affair; the prison before had already been stifling, though now the smell of blood in the air is ripe. Fragarach trembles in Dimitri's hand as they reach the ground floor, though is steady once he finds the victim of his first ambush and definitively pierces his throat... a death more swift than most others in this place. "Are you awake?"

Claude does his best to hold on, to keep from hindering Dimitri's ability to fight, but every scuffle that slows their progress feels like an eternity. It takes all his concentration just to stay conscious by the time this final guard meets his end. "...more or less."

"You will be alright." It's a rushed murmur, almost feverish. The next minutes are spent with Dimitri stalking the ground floor in search of a subtler, safer exit than the one through which he came, but really, there isn't much to be done: in Claude's condition, he wouldn't trust exiting out into the harbor, nor merely walking out into Derdriu. "I'm sorry, beloved. We'll be ascending again... I have an idea."

Traveling to the tower's uppermost floor confirms Dimitri's earliest suspicions. The stairwell ends with a hatch in the ceiling, one that leads straight out to the covered top of the tower. The prince digs around for a moment before he finds what he's looking for in his pockets, and relief washes over him when his fingers grasp-- "Cover your ears." A soft warning, before Dimitri brings the whistle to his lips and, with a great breath, blows.

It's an earsplitting sound, as intended—after a few tense beats of silence comes the faraway beating of wings and confused voices drifting up from the ground far below. A good thing his wyvern hadn't abandoned him, then. Dimitri kneels down once the beast is in his sight and coaxes Claude from his back, so that he might take the man in his arms instead. The tower trembles under the weight of the wyvern scrambling for purchase against its side, but it holds. The prince does his damnedest not to think of the height, but knowing Claude's safety, his life, depends on this--that is enough motivation to spur him on regardless.

He doesn't wait to settle in the saddle again before commanding her to take off, faster than a volley of arrows from the ground can even reach them. Dimitri has Claude in front of him on the mount's back, cradling him close, an arm looped around his waist to hold him steady as the wind whips them. "You'll be fine, Claude, you'll be alright..."

Claude manages to get his ears covered before Dimitri blows the whistle--sluggishly he thinks, Dimitri brought a wyvern? And yes, there it is, and soon they're in the air, and although the idea of the prince flying a wyvern sounds some vague alarms, it's far too late to worry over it now. Either it's really Dimitri and he's safe, or it isn't and he's no _less_ safe than he'd been already. There's a part of his mind still working, though, figuring out how he might escape, if he had to--how he might send the Imperial imposter falling to his death, if he had to. But there's another part of his mind that's pretty sure he's being ridiculous, and so after a moment he tries to relax in Dimitri's grip, with only partial success.

He's not sure if this is one of those times when he really shouldn't let himself pass out, or whether it would be best for him to sleep. He's not sure he'll have a choice, given a few more minutes of this warmth and the soothing sensation of flight. "...Dima." He grabs the prince's arm, weak though his grip still is, and turns slightly. "Tell me something only you would know."

The question doesn't register at first, but Dimitri's shock doesn't last long. It hurts a little, not that Claude would doubt him, more that... knowledge, knowing that his captors could inspire such paranoia in him. Claude's afraid, clearly, even as he struggles to stay awake. "I would prefer to call you Mīrzā," he murmurs, and gives Claude's waist a gentle squeeze, head lowering to graze his lips to his temple, "but when you become king, I will gladly call you Hazret."

Claude's relief is palpable; although he already had plenty of evidence, he just...had to ask. Just to make sure. He finally does relax completely, then, with a sigh. "...thank you. You got my letter?"

"I did. I--" Dimitri's still on edge now, but recalling his behavior before leaving the fort has him feeling the growing tinge of embarrassment. "...I hope Hilda can forgive me for the way that I acted. They assured me that things were fine, even after we hadn't heard from you... when I received your letter, I felt as if my whole world was vanishing before my eyes." It did, really. How wonderful it is, to hold Claude in his arms. "I... know not what they've done to you, but they have paid with their deaths."

"Like Flayn. They wanted my blood...for the Crest. Secondary objective." Claude clutches Dimitri's arm close, eyes half-closed, less fearful now than comforted. "Knew you'd come." It's not a lie. He knew that even if his letter never reached the prince, eventually, he'd come. Despite what Claude told him, about leading the army to Enbarr without him. He knew.

Claude's disorientation, the paleness of his skin... yes, that would explain it. Anger rises within Dimitri anew, but he quells it for the sake of keeping control of the wyvern, and of his grip on Claude. "I won't allow them to hurt you again." It comes out strained, a whisper he isn't certain Claude hears over the wind. "I won't allow _anyone_ to lay a hand on you..."

They fly for some time, though Dimitri doesn't keep Claude awake if it can be helped. He's certain the man hasn't gotten a wink of restful sleep since he was taken... when they land, it's only after quite a few hours have passed; they escaped from the city while the sun struggled to rise again past the clouds at the horizon, and as Dimitri brings the wyvern to land, it's long since set. There's little to be seen where they do find solid ground, outside of patches of trees and bushes. Enough, he thinks, to provide them cover in the night. He dismounts carefully with Claude still in his arms. "Claude, we're dismounting. We're going to rest here, alright?"

Claude drifts in and out of consciousness during the journey; he tries to sleep, but sleeping in flight is difficult at best, with the near-constant gusts of cold wind. When they land, the wind's relentless roar is replaced by all the sounds of the forest at night--owls, crickets, the rustling of the leaves. And Dimitri's voice...how long has it been since he's heard it in person instead of only in dreams? Weeks, at least. He lost track of time once the mages came. He nods by way of response. "How long...has it been?"

Dimitri gently sets Claude down, leans him against the side of their resting wyvern, in order to clear a patch of ground to make their fire and bed. It isn't long before he has a small blaze going, a warm and smokeless enchantment Mercedes taught him once, in passing during their academy days... a miracle that he's remembered it. He returns to pick Claude up once more and relocate him to the fire; he has a tent to pitch, but the other man must be settled first. "... almost seven weeks," he answers softly, "between your departure and my arrival in Derdriu."

"Seven..." Claude sighs heavily. "Too long." He huddles close to the fire, pulling the cloak close and trying to keep his eyes open. "...Derdriu fell. It's my fault."

"It is not." And Dimitri isn't just saying that. He doesn't stop rummaging through his supplies, content only once he finds the food Hilda packed for him. They're rations enough for the both of them, and more than he'd anticipated, given he ate nothing on the way to the city... "You did what you could and entrusted it to Judith and Count Gloucester. No one could have anticipated the enemy would be able to pull off such a thing... right under our noses." Dimitri shakes his head, and settles in next to Claude, pulling him against his side in the hopes of helping him warm up. "We've come too far into the Empire for me to go anywhere but Enbarr... I know not what to do about Derdriu yet."

"...we _could_ have anticipated it. They did it before. Monica. Tomas." Claude lets Dimitri pull him close, leaning heavily against the prince. "Can't trust anyone. Except...Nader. They don't know about him." At least, they shouldn't. He wonders whether Daphnel still stands free...whether Nader's still in the city at Derdriu... "He needs to know I'm here. And Judith. All of them."

Nader is a name that doesn't take long to come back to Dimitri, once he thinks about it. "I will handle it. When you are back at Merceus, I'll have Mercedes care for you." Gentle fingers brush the hair from Claude's face; Dimitri's seen him in far better condition, and it only serves to harden his heart more. For all the lives lost at the tower by his hands, it isn't enough. "For now... you need to rest. Recover what strength you can. When was the last that you ate? If you can remember."

"Mm. Not sure." It's hard to remember much, really, past the point when they started taking blood. "We'll stop them, Dima. Take Enbarr. Regroup. We can win."

"We will... we can." Though a future like that seems so far out of reach, from here. Dimitri sighs to himself, intent on keeping it silent. He's working one-handed as he fishes out a canteen from his supplies, wetting a handkerchief and turning back to Claude. "Hold still," comes his soft voice, as he gently wipes his face down. "At the rate that I'll be flying, we should be back to the fort sometime tomorrow... hang on until then, beloved."

"Mmhmm. Can do." Claude gives Dimitri a smile, weak but genuine. "Don't worry. Surviving...is what I do best, remember?" The warmth of the fire and the prince both is lulling him to sleep, he can tell. "Hey, Dima. Talk to me?" The silence of the Lighthouse was sometimes too much to bear; he would talk to himself just to hear something other than the wind and the waves. Besides, he could listen to Dimitri talk for hours and hours. He's always loved the prince's voice.

That, Dimitri can do. He offers some of the food he's brought: spiced dried fruits, courtesy of Annette. He doesn't talk about any one thing in particular, once he starts; he has a feeling he knows why Claude wishes him to speak, and if he needs that sort of comfort, an interruption to the silence, he is more than happy to provide. When he starts, though, it's his childhood that claws its way to the forefront of his mind and he details for Claude his time in Faerghus, of the happy memories with his father and stepmother, with all of his friends and family...

Claude eats everything Dimitri gives him, glad to learn that he hasn't lost his appetite, and listens with only the occasional brief interjection. He smiles faintly, listening to these stories...it's good, he thinks, that Dimitri can talk about this without getting overcome with grief or the voices of his ghosts. After a little while, his eyes grow heavy and he closes them, beginning to drift off to sleep. "Next time," he mumbles, "I'll tell you about Almyra."

"And I will listen, eagerly." Dimitri really had meant to pitch the tent, give them some cover... he can't bear to move Claude, though, not like this. He draws the cloak tighter around the other man's shoulders and presses a feather of a kiss to his temple. How content he feels, to know Claude is safe... "Get some sleep, love," he whispers.


End file.
